


It's a mad, mad world

by ElisAttack



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Explicit Sexual Content, Fanart, M/M, Mad Max Fury Road AU, Mentions of Past Slavery, Mentions of infertility and miscarriage, No mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, POV Derek, POV Stiles, Sterilization, Stiles reads dystopian literature in the midst of a dystopian world, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Wasteland, but nothing happens, mentions of past rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 73,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3818287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElisAttack/pseuds/ElisAttack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They call him the Feral Wolf."  The man laughs hysterically as Stiles backs away from him, fear coursing through his veins.  "Feral Hale.  Do you know why?  Huh?"  The man creeps closer, testing the restraint of his chains, white talcum falling from his skin, swirling in the air like the dust devils plaguing the wasteland.  "Because he's fucking mad."</p><p>Or the one where Stiles is a prisoner looking to return home, but to do so, he may have to rely on a questionable drifter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [It's a mad, mad world](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4493580) by [rene_n](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rene_n/pseuds/rene_n)



> Mad Max: Fury Road Teen Wolf Crossover. 
> 
> I Saw the trailer for the new Mad Max film, and I must say I'm in love. This fic is based upon the look of the trailer, the costumes, and how I think that society works, I know absolutely nothing about the plot of the film, so I'm making my own. 
> 
> This is my first A/B/O fic, and I'm twisting things up to suit the plot, but I promise nothing too drastic.
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr link to all art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/tagged/Mad-Max-Fury-Road)

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/117342672787/art-for-its-a-mad-mad-world-sterek-mad-max-fury)

 

Stiles scowls as pushes his way through the throngs of people, moving quickly through the hustle and bustle of the market district.  If he hadn't waited until the last possible moment to pick up his pills from the apothecary, he wouldn't be in this position, but in true Stiles fashion, he procrastinated and so, shook out the last dusty orange capsule this morning.  The morning when all the shipments are driven in from the hinterlands, and the market is full to bursting with busy people. 

Someone rushes past him, clipping him on the arm and Stiles winces as the scar tissue of the months old brand on his bicep pulls uncomfortably.  The brand marks him as property of the Alphas and guarantees no one will harass him, lest they incur the wrath of the tyrants keeping them alive.

Unfortunately, It doesn't stop people from bumping into him.

He taps on the riveted counter top when he reaches the apothecary's stall.  Turning his right bicep to face the pale man arranging various glass bottles of medicine, he shows the man his brand.  The man scoffs, and scratches his neck where an appalling rash decorates his slightly grey skin.

"You're lucky, kid."  He bends, pulling a familiar blue bottle out from under the counter, shaking it, making the pills rattle.  "This is my last one."

Stiles makes a grab for it, but the man pulls it out of his reach at the last second.  "Give it."  Stiles growls.

"Lookie here."  The man leans closer, a smirk pulling on his dry skin.  "These puppies are getting a bit expensive to make.  I think the Alphas need to supplement my income in better ways than just waiving my taxes."  He drags his beady eyes lasciviously up Stiles' body, and Stiles might just throw up a little bit in his mouth, especially when the man reaches out and grabs his wrist in a tight grip.

"Let me go."  Stiles snarls, tugging his arm fruitlessly away from the man as he tries to drag him behind the counter.

"Come on, sweetcheeks, it'll just be a short blowie?  I promise I won't last long, especially with a pretty mouth like yours."  Stiles plants his feet into the dusty dirt floor, refusing to move in inch.  He's not fucking losing his virginity for a bottle of pills, no matter how much he needs them.  He'd rather be a shriveled up corpse.

"What's going on here?"  Stiles whips his head around, and spots an armored enforcer standing with his arms crossed, glaring daggers at the hand the apothecary has wrapped around Stiles' wrist.  The man drops Stiles' wrist like it's on fire, and Stiles frowns at the finger shaped bruises. 

"Nothing, Sir, absolutely nothing."  The man stammers.  "We were just talking, is all."  The enforcer narrows his eyes.

"You do not talk to the Alphas' property, you do not look at the Alphas' property, and you sure as fuck don't touch the Alphas' property."  The heavily armed enforcer barks, looming over the man.  "You hand him his pills and let him be on his way.  If I ever see you even sniff the Alphas' things again, you'll lose that nose."

"Yessir."  The man squeaks, rushing to place Stiles' pills in his hands.  The enforcer nods stiffly and disappears into the crowd.  Stiles laughs smugly, when the apothecary actively avoids eye contact.  Fucker got his just desserts.  Stiles tucks the blue glass bottle full to the stopper with orange pills into the leather pouch he keeps buckled to his side, before pushing his way into the crowd. 

He hears a commotion coming from his left, and pushes through, using his thin figure to an advantage, his curiosity getting the better of him.  The shouting voices get louder as he inches closer, and he hears the sound of fists thudding against flesh, and the ozoned buzz of enforcers' tasered weapons.  He breaks through a circle to a clearing in the middle, dust stirring as an enforcer is picked up and thrown into the crowd, screams and cries of pain, following in his wake.  Stiles fixes his eye on the man who did the throwing.  He has thick corded muscles, covered in dark hair that is surprisingly unbleached from exposure to the beating sun.  A thick mop of the same coloured hair rests upon his head, matching frowning eye brows that lead down into an straight nose, delicate, despite the man's size. 

Stiles watches as an enforcer grabs at the man, only for him to be kicked in the gut and punched in the face, Stiles hears the crack of breaking cartilage even ten feet away.  Eventually the man spins around, showing his back to Stiles and he gasps in shock and wonder at what lies on the man's skin.

A black triskele sits between his shoulders.  Most importantly Stiles recognizes the tattoo as a symbol hailing from the Westernlands, past the salt flats separating the east from the west. 

The west, where Beacon Hills sits in the mountains.  His home.

He's startled out of his musings when an enforcer tackles the man, sending them both crashing into the heavy dust, raising a choking cloud.  The man is punched, once, twice, before the guard gets up, and dusting off his pants, shooting his taser at the man's bare chest.  He vibrates like he's having a seizure, before going still, blinking blearily at the crowd.  The enforcer pulls him to his feet, and wraps heavy, rusting chains around the man's wrist, while another one supports him so he doesn't keel over.

He's marched out of the circle, enforcers clearing the path.  As he passes Stiles, the man catches his eye for a second, before blinking in what could almost be recognition, but probably isn't because Stiles has never seen him before in his life.  He passes by, the scent of seared flesh following in his wake, and Stiles winces.  Taser burns are the worst.  He remembers the first time he tried to escape, and a enforcer shot him in the leg, he couldn't bear to walk for days after, he was in so much pain.

Stiles stealthily follows after the group, trying to see where they are taking the man.  He weaves his way through the throng, ducking out of view every time an enforcer turns his head to look over the crowds.  The man is pulled by the chains over to a sandstone wall, where a huge gateway covered by a iron trellis sits in the middle.  Stiles ducks behind some boulders, crouching within hearing distance, as an enforcer shouts for them to open the gate. 

"They want him in the lower prisons."  Stiles hears an enforcer speak to his colleague.

"Poor sod."  The sound of a boot kicking flesh followed by a sharp exhale resonates from where Stiles sits.  "What'd this one do?"

"Fucker was asking too many questions, so someone flagged the Alphas."  The enforcer spits, and Stiles can hear the wad of tobacco hit the dirt.

"That's not the only reason.  Don't you know who this is?"  Stiles' ears perk as an enforcer whispers conspiratorially.  "He's the Feral Wolf."

"The bounty hunter?"  Someone gasps.

"The bounty hunter with a price on his head."  All of a sudden chains rattle, until Stiles hears the enforcer kick down the man.   "Ah, ah, ah.  You stay right where you are, you're my fucking payday."  Another growl sounds, followed by a sigh.  "Our payday."

"Where're we taking him?"  Stiles holds his breath, hoping they'll stick him in the upper prisons where Stiles will easily be able to talk to the man through iron bars.

"Gates of fucking Hell."  Stiles swears, cursing his luck.  He won't be able to sneak into the lower prisons easily. 

Finally, Stiles hears a loud boom, as the trellis unlocks, and the gate begins to creak open.  Chains rattle as the enforcers haul the man to his feet.  Sticking his head slightly above the boulder, he sees the group disappear into the dark tunnels, as the gate slams down behind them.

Fuck.  Stiles will never go home at this rate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some world building, and plot!

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/117603641247/art-for-chapter-two-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

"Isaac?"  Stiles calls out for his friend as he closes their room door behind him.  "Isaac?"

The boy in question pops out from under his simple metal framed bed, shaking dust out of his hair.  "Do you have them?"  He asks Stiles, and Stiles pulls out the bottle, shaking it and grinning when Isaac leaps right over the bed, taking the bottle out of his hands.  "I got the capsules."

"Awesome.  C'mon, I'll help you."  Stiles grabs a chair, and places it underneath the doorknob, wedging the door shut, it won't keep an enforcer out for long, but it will keep them busy long enough for Isaac and him to hide what they're doing.

Isaac draws out a jute bag full of empty orange gelatin capsules, and tosses a chipped clay bowl at Stiles as they settle down on Isaac's bed, getting to work. 

They quickly found out, early on, if they kept the pills for longer than a month, the capsules they came in would start to melt, disintegrating into a large gelatinous mess, ruining the pills. 

It made it impossible to store up enough for them to escape with an adequate supply.  Stiles thinks the Alphas planned it so the pills are made useless after some time.  Isaac, on the other hand, thinks the apothecary just cheaps out on the containers for the drug he has to give away for free.

While Stiles carefully opens each pill and empties it out into the pottery bowl, taking care to make sure to spill not even a granule of the bright purple powder, Isaac opens the new capsules he traded for the extra ration cards they get because of their status as Alpha property. 

As it turns out being kept prisoner to sit around all day along twiddling their thumbs has its perks.  They have access to prime jerky when it comes in from the hinterlands.  Jerky, the rest of the Colony drools over.  Jerky, they don't eat because they use it to trade for replacement capsules.  They manage to survive, just fine, on a daily diet of gruel and peas.  Although, Stiles finds he's been losing much muscle mass since being taken over six months ago.

Isaac scoops some of the powder with a capsule and closes it shut again, placing it back into the blue bottle.  They've managed to save up a year's worth of pills in this manner, neither the apothecary, or Alphas keep track of how many bottles they use up.   Stiles believes the Alphas see themselves as more intelligent than their prisoners, thinking their self-destructing capsules are effective at, well, self-destructing.

Little do they know.

When all the pills have been filled and the bottle tucked away with ten others, hidden under Isaac's bed, Stiles flushes the old capsules down the waterless toilet.  After removing the chair blocking the door, Stiles settles down again beside his friend, telling him about the incident in the market.

"He had a triskele on his back, Isaac."  Stiles speaks as the hot setting sun beats through the scratched window, bathing the sandstone room in deep oranges and reds.

"That's a mark of-"

"Exactly."  Stiles nods.  "I need to talk to him, he'll known the way back to my home."

"But why would he help?"  Isaac questions.  "You have no wealth to offer him, and ration tickets are useless outside of the Colony."  Stiles shrugs at Isaac's worried tone.

"I'll figure something out, but, if I get the information I need,"  He catches Isaac's hand in his, squeezing.  "I want you to come with me."

Isaac blinks and frowns.  "I can't, Stiles, you know that."

"You'll never get a chance like this again."  Stiles begs, he has no intention of leaving Isaac behind, even if he has to drag the boy kicking and screaming across the wasteland."

"My home's in the north, my dad..."  Isaac trails off, like he can't think of a single reason to go back to his abusive bastard of a father.  Isaac's told him stories about his father, stories that make Stiles cringe.

"Exactly."  Stiles hisses.  "Your father deserves no loyalty from you."

"No, he doesn't, but my brother does."  He pulls his hand out of Stiles' grip.  "I can't leave Camden alone with him."

"He can take care of himself."  Stiles says tersely, getting up from the bed, and wandering over to the bubbled, crudely made glass he can barely see out of, peering out into the sandy wasteland.  There are moments, just when the sun sets that he can ignore all the smog and dust, and focus on the burning fire of the sun, sucking all the water from the dusty earth.  Beautiful in its balefulness.

"Please understand, I can't just forget my family, no more than you could forget about your dad and Scott."  Isaac pleads and Stiles sighs, understanding where he's coming from.  If someone from the north came to the Colony, Stiles would never leave with Isaac.  It smarts, knowing Isaac's right in his convictions, because Stiles is still going to have to leave him here in this hot, crowded city with absolutely no prospects to rot away until Isaac finds out exactly what the Alphas' want when they call them their property.

"Fuck."  Stiles pushes away from the window, and falls onto his lumpy mattress, rusty springs creaking in protest.

"Don't worry about me, Stiles, I'll be fine."  Isaac walks up to him, and crouches in between Stiles' thighs, reassuring him with wide cherubic eyes.  "My opportunity will come, just like yours has."

***

Stiles leans nonchalantly against flaking sandstone walls, the picture of innocence, studiously staring at the dirt floor and avoiding eye contact with each and every person walking by.  A few talcum coated mechanics pass him, giggling and gripping at their friends when they notice Stiles' brand.  Fortunately, none of them reach out and attempt to touch Stiles.  Isaac's told him a few horror stories about them grabbing at random passersby, and biting until they reach blood, the victim unable to shake free of their sharp teeth.

"You're so pretty."  Stiles startles as a finger lightly touches his hair.  Wide eyed, Stiles looks up, pulling away from red rimmed eyes and cracked, bleeding lips.  The talcum man giggles, running off and jumping on another's back, only turning around once to stare longingly after Stiles, blowing him a teasing kiss.  White powder floats like clouds to the ground, and Stiles shivers.  There is more insanity per square foot in the Colony than in the entirety of his town back home.

Finally, after waiting for what seems like hours, an enforcer walks through the dark corridor, his heavy metal boots crunching and forming massive divots in the ground as he strides past Stiles, looking after him curiously, as if wondering why the Alphas' property is hanging around the prisons.

Stiles takes a deep breath and steps in his path, pulling on his most convincing terrified face.

"Umm..."  Stiles gulps as the enforcer doesn't slow down in the slightest, until he walks right up to Stiles, bending down to peer into Stiles' face, only inches away so he can feel hot humid breath ghost across his skin, and the acrid stench of an unclean mouth.

"What?"  The enforcer asks, irritated, glaring into Stiles eyes, probably hoping to intimidate.  Stiles is unafraid to admit it's working. 

Stiles quickly points to his neck, making sure to turn so his right arm faces forward, just in case the man hasn't seen Stiles before and doesn't recognize him as property of his overlords.  A second later he's glad he did, because the enforcer's whole demeanor changes, his face  quickly showing an expression of fear.  Everyone knows what happens to those that touch Alpha property, he quickly backs out of Stiles' space, nearly tripping over his feet in his haste to get away.  "I think someone bit me, can you check?"  Stiles asks.

"What?"  The enforcer's brows turn down, and Stiles rolls his eyes.  On one hand he's happy he's talking to a stupid one, because stealing his master key will be easier, but on the other: stupid.

"I said one of those talcum coated freaks sank their teeth into my neck, could you maybe, I dunno, pull down my tank and check so I can go disinfect it before I get gangrene and my head falls off."  Stiles may be just a little bit melodramatic at times, but, whatever.

The enforcer blinks, and Stiles feels like banging his head against the wall repeatedly.  "Someone bit the Alphas' property?"

"Let's go with that one.  Yes."  Stiles exclaims, and almost claps his hand sarcastically, but barely manages to restrain himself.

"Where did they go?"  The man growls, walking _away_ from Stiles, which he shouldn't be doing, he should be walking towards him so Stiles can reach  out and gently unclip the beautiful, slightly oxidized key jangling against the man's hip.

"Wait!"  Stiles calls out, and the man turns back around.  Stiles screws all his resolve together and says.  "You have something on your face."  Stiles points to the enforcer's face, but not in any specific area.  The man blinks, and starts swiping his hand around his mouth.  Stiles inches closer, eyeing the key, as it taunts him  "You're so close, dude."  He says, speaking to both the enforcer and himself.

"Is it gone yet?"  And Stiles shakes his head, even though the man literally just exfoliated his whole face with his calluses.

"Here let me help."  Stiles reaches up, gently placing one hand on the man's hip, while he swipes at a nonexistent something on the corner of the man's mouth.  "There you go, all gone."  Stiles is all smiles, as he pulls away, one hand clenched around the key quickly disappearing into his pouch.

"Good."  The enforcer smiles a smile that's all black painted teeth, and Stiles shudders  "Now shoo."  He makes waving hands at Stiles like he's a bothersome dog, and he gladly takes off, not bothering to remind the man about the nonexistent bite he sustained from an nonexistent man.

Stiles is one devious bastard, if he does say so himself.

***

Stiles has never known a world where water was something to be taken for granted.  Sure, he's heard stories from the elders in his town, who heard stories from their elders, and so on. 

Stories, where you could just turn a simple knob, and fresh, clean water would gush out easy like pie.  How finding water in the middle of nothing used to be an easy feat.  How the oceans were not salinated beyond use and would take more oil than it's worth to boil the salt away.

People kill for water.  And oil.  But that's always been a given. 

Stiles would spending hours reading in Beacon Hill's ancient library.  The youngest book in the collection had to be just under a hundred years old.  He had needed a special pass from the mayor simply to gain access to vaults, something easily done, since he was, _is_ he reminds himself, the Sheriff's son.  Everyone trusts John Stilinski, and by association, Stiles, even if he was always a little curious shit. 

Once, Stiles read a whole tome on the history of the Gulf War, and was surprised to find historical politics stuffed incredibly full with rationalizations.  At least now, no one hides why they want to kill each other.  If someone is sitting, cross-legged, on a ground reservoir with no protection, they're sure to end up with their throat slit in the dead of night, anything that can be of some use, pulled from underneath their stone-cold corpse.

While living in a world composed of cutthroats, there's no room for rationale.

Especially in the Colony.

The Alphas rule with an iron fist.  They control the water, and so, they control the Colony.  There are no elections like there are in Beacon Hills, where his dad was voted into his position as Sheriff. 

The Alphas turn on the pump every morning, filling the reservoirs for the day, and if they didn't, well.  No one wants to think about that. 

In return for life-giving water, the denizens protect the Alphas' interests out in the oil fields.  Guarding, with zeal, the rocking horses pulling black oil out of scorched earth. 

Stiles remembers passing by an oil well after he was taken away from Beacon Hills. 

Already half delirious after being chucked into the back of his mother's jeep, it might've been the lack of water, or the parching sun making him hallucinate, but Stiles swears he saw rotting corpses strung up on the rocking horse's supports, bodies riddled with bullet holes, practically mummified by the desiccating  sandstorms. 

He remembers asking himself if he died and went to Hell, blinking gritty sand out of his eyes as he was driven by raiders, miles away from everything he's ever known and loved. 

Beacon Hills had seen its own share of raiders.  Hordes that drive by the town's boundaries, whooping and screaming, war cries abound, trying to scare the inhabitants and take resources for their own.  But the town also had its own defenses: Chris Argent and his family, who were all too eager to protect and serve with a bloodthirstiness rivaling the raiders. 

Once, Chris' sister hacked the heads off a group of raiders, displaying them garishly, in plain view, outside the sandstone battlements protecting the caves of Beacon Hills.  They were only removed a week later, after his dad argued to the council that the rotting heads were scaring the children.

While the Colony is rim full of crazy, Beacon Hills, too, had its own dose of insanity.  Kate had laughed at his dad, calling him weak.  Weak, because he thought decorating their walls with dead bodies as trophies was a barbaric practice.    

That doesn't mean Stiles hates his home town.  Yes, the world's gone to shit, there's bound to be fucked up people, doing fucked up things to survive.  Or, exactly because they can.  Stiles just wants to go home, it's a burning ache inside of him, calling for him to simply head back west where he belongs.  Away from this godforsaken Colony where he's stewing in his own juices, just waiting for the day the Alphas call on him and finally make use of their property.

He's only been existing six months in the Colony, but he's fucking tired. 

Stiles needs the bounty hunter's help to make it across the wasteland, and somehow he has to convince the man to take him home when he has shit-all to offer in return.

Easy peasy lemon fucking squeezy.

***

Stiles waits a few days before sneaking into the prisons again.  He doesn't want the enforcers to draw a connection between a missing prisoner and a stolen key, since it will eventually lead back to Isaac and him.  If something goes wrong, well, Stiles shudders to think.  He can almost still feel the burns of the taser on his leg, the smell of burning flesh.  Stiles shakes his head, clearing away those destructive thoughts.

The Colony is massive.

While Beacon Hills was founded within naturally formed sandstone caves, located above a mineral spring providing life giving water, the Colony was drilled with machines.  Sometimes when Stiles walks along the corridors lined with heavy steel pipes, carrying water or gas, if he runs his fingers along the walls he can still feel the lacerations the drill left behind. 

Beacon Hills' walls were so smooth, untamed erosion, caused by centuries worth of wind and water eating away at the walls, making them so.  The sandstone layered with gorgeous banding built up over millennia.  It was always so airy in the caves, naturally occurring openings allowing the beams of light to shine down, visible through the dust in the warm air.

The Colony is so dark in comparison.  Dark and stifling.  Openings in the stone are few and far between and corridors are narrow.  Stiles has to actively avoid brushing shoulders with people as he walks past making his way deeper into the heart of the colony where the prison lies.

The main gate, located in the market, where they first took the Feral Wolf is the easiest way to gain access into the prisons, but the massive rusting gate serves as a problem, along with the many enforcers that guard it. 

But, there is another entrance used to send amenities into the prison.  And Stiles has the key.

The deeper he walks, the darker it gets, and soon the only light comes from scattered torches, attached to gas lines.  Stiles knows he's underground, he can almost feel the invisible pressure of tonnes of rock pressing down upon him, making it hard to breathe.  It's horribly claustrophobic, and Stiles can't wait to leave.

Soon, he's approaching the solid steel door Stiles remembers from his first attempted escape.  When enforcers dragged him, by his hair, kicking and screaming, tossing him in an empty cage to rot for a week as a reminder of exactly who he belongs to.

Stiles shudders, wondering if his nails had actually managed to claw marks in the heavy tarnished metal, but he refuses to look, instead he swivels open the keyhole cover, turning the key with a heavy click as tumbler are pushed in place.

Softly, Stiles pushes open the creaking door, finding a room enshrouded in darkness.  It's exactly how he remembers. 

He knows the rooms full of cages eventually leads to cells, and then after that, he's running blind.  He has an abstract idea where the Gates of Hell are located based upon rumors and whispers.  People speaking of the horrors in the cavern full of suspended cages, lined with the sharps spikes the talcum men love to weld to their cars.  The place where the Feral Wolf was taken.

He'll just have to walk through and see, only knowing he's supposed to be walking down a slope, not up.

Stiles tries not to look within the cages as he passes by, the filthy stench of urine, rot, and unwashed bodies making him cringe.  He's almost grateful he can hardly see with the few scattered gas lights casting some illumination upon this hellish part of the Colony.

He's walking down a straight and narrow corridor, when he hears it, a thin wailing sound reverberating from around the corner.  Stiles gulps, and curses the shitty hand life has given him as he continues on, his fingers clenched into fists at his side.  Rounding the corner, he spots the source of the wail.

"Oh, lookie here."  A talcum man hums.  He's chained to the wall, blocking Stiles' way through the narrow path, an enforcer must have chained him, intending to take him into the lower prisons, but forgot about him. 

He stares at Stiles, head cocked, a smile gracing his face.

"You're a pretty boy, aren't you?"  Stiles inches along the wall furthest from the man, eyeing the chains, mentally testing their length.  Stiles gulps, the man could easily grab him if he came any closer. 

"I'll give you anything you want, pretty boy, just come here, yes, closer, let me smell you."  The talcum man sniffs the air, and closes his eyes as if in bliss.  "You smell so tasty I could eat you right up, beautiful boy."  Stiles shivers.

"Stay away."  Stiles' voice shakes as the man honest to god, pouts.

"How about a lick?  Just a lick?  Pretty, pretty please?  I'll tell you anything you want, I'll give you anything." 

"Have you seen a man with a spiral tattoo?"  Stiles asks cautiously, but the talcum man's eyes brighten. 

"Oh yes!"  He squeals.  "I've seen him, a man with hair, dark as night, and a threefold spiral oil slick on his back.  It dripped, pretty boy, it dripped red like the oh so unfriendly sun."  The man grins manically.  "Now how about my taste."  His tongue runs out all along his parched, bleeding lips.

"Only if you tell me more."  Stiles lies, he has absolutely no intention of being licked, and he even doubts the man would _only_ lick him.  He looks so fucking starved.  Stiles eyes the man's ribs showing through paper thin skin.  Stiles doesn't want to lose an ear via sharp, unsanitary teeth.

Suddenly, the man jumps to his feet with a surprising amount of agility, and Stiles startles.

"They call him the Feral Wolf."  The man laughs hysterically as Stiles backs away from him, fear coursing through his veins.  "Feral Hale.  Do you know why?  Huh?"  The man creeps closer, testing the restraint of his chains, white talcum falling from his skin, swirling in the air like the dust devils plaguing the wasteland.  "Because he's fucking mad."

"Shit."  Stiles says as he trips over his own feet, landing on the hard ground, the man smiling in victory, standing only a foot away.  However, when he goes to reach for Stiles the chains snap taut and the man's eyes widen.

"No, no, no!"  He claws  and tugs at his wrists.  "Just a taste, a little taste, I'm so hungry!"  He wails like a banshee, the awful sound reverberating in the corridor.  Stiles uses the distraction to his advantage and kicks awkwardly out at the man feet, and he goes down with a surprised squeal, Stiles runs past him.

"He's run, run, running! Down the rabbit hole goes little Alice."  The man screams maniacally as Stiles escapes, making his way into the deeper, darker underground.  "Falling, falling, until splat!"  The man's voice echoes from behind him, until eventually it fades and all Stiles can hear is the sound of his echoing footsteps, and the slow dripping of water. 

He's so far underground, precious water is seeping out of the blood red walls.

Stiles reaches a hand out, touching the rough stone, his fingers coming away wet, shining almost silver in the dim light.  He must be close.

There's light coming from up ahead, and Stiles cautiously walks closer.  He enters into a cavern, massive in scale, with faint natural lighting coming from a grill at least a few hundred feet above.  It casts blue shadows in the form of lines onto the suspended cages, some with skeletons crouched inside, others with barely alive, starved people, blood dripping off the spikes lining the cages like an iron maiden.

Stiles carefully walks around the room, avoiding the puddles of dried blood pooled within divots on the dusty ground, searching for a mop of black hair and a triskelion.   

At the bark of a cough, Stiles whips around, fearing an enforcer coming to check on the prisoners.  Instead, he finds the man he's been looking for. 

The Feral Wolf.

The man with hazel eyes sitting amongst an unwashed face, looking down at Stiles with an unreadable expression. 

Stiles studies the man's prison.  The chain is looped through a ring at the top of the cage which is attached to another ring on an rock outcropping, and finally tied around a nearby pillar.  Stiles goes to loosen the chain, feeling eyes on his back the whole while, as the cage descends a few feet.  Finally when it is lowered down to eye level, Stiles reties the chain around the rock.

"What are you doing?"  The man breaks the silence.  He has a clear, ringing voice Stiles wouldn't think belongs to a man of his bulk.

"Getting you down."

"Why?" 

"So we can talk."  Stiles approaches the cage.  "I have a proposition for you."

The man raises his brow and says nothing, but Stiles watches him look Stiles over with the same abstract recognition as he did in the market.

"Don't you want to know what I want?"  Stiles prods, halfway worried that the man actually enjoys being trapped in the pokey cage.

The man snorts, and Stiles frowns.

"Okay, listen here Sour Wolf."  The man snarls, and Stiles jumps back, tangling his feet, almost falling down for the second time in the day.

"Unless you're going to get me out of here, go away."  The man finally says, and Stiles glowers.

"Dude, I'm the one with the key to your freedom, you should be treating me with respect."  The Wolf grins ferally, and Stiles sees where he gets his name, although, his bunny teeth kind of ruin it.

"You wouldn't come all this way down here, unless you needed me for something.  So open the cage, and then I'll listen to your _proposition_."

Stiles snorts, laughing.

"What's so funny?"  The Wolf growls. 

"I just need information from you, and you don't need to be free to give it."

"And how do you plan on getting that information?"  The man taunts Stiles.  "Because I'm not talking."  Stiles frowns, turning his back on him.  He spots, a broken cage, crashed onto the ground in a heap, metal twisted and mangled, but most importantly, a broken off spike lies just beside the cage.  Stiles has never been one for blood, but he's willing to do what he must to get home to his dad.

He picks up the spike, and tests it for sharpness, finding it adequate, he holds it up to the Wolf.  "Would this convince you."

The man laughs, but worry tinges his voice.  "What are you going to do, boy, stick me with the pointy end?  Then where will you get your information."  He spits out the last word, and Stiles shudders at the venom in his voice.  This man would gladly kill him if he got his hands on him, Stiles thinks.  Gathering his resolve together, he glares at the man.

"Try me."  They stare at each other for a long moment before the Wolf sighs, shifting uncomfortably and wincing when a spike pokes at his bare back.

"Get me out of this cage and I'll tell you everything you want to know."  Stiles nods, and the man appears surprised at Stiles easy acquiesce. 

"What makes you think the moment I'm out I won't rip your throat out with my teeth?"  He asks, and Stiles raises a brow.  "I'm just curious, wondering why you're trusting I won't kill you.  I could do it so easily."

Stiles shrugs.  "I have nothing more to lose, and everything to gain." 

The man watches as Stiles reaches underneath, and unlocks the cage from the bottom, he holds onto the bars for support as the cage floor drops open with a click.  Finally letting go, he to the ground in a crouch, before standing up and brushing off his clothes, cricking his neck.

"So."  Stiles clutches the spike tighter to him as the man looks him over.  "My questions."

The man sighs, and crosses his arms, before making a small gesture indicating Stiles should talk.  Stiles exhales, and realizes he's been holding his breath for long.

"Tell me how to get to the Westernlands." 

"You go west."  The man snorts like it's so obvious.  Like it's so _easy_ to cross the wasteland.  Like he doesn't need to know where it's safe to stop for water, where to take cover from dust devils, and most importantly, how to hide from raiders.

Stiles narrows his eyes and is just about to give this man the tongue lashing of his life, when he speaks.

"Look, kid, I might as well take you."  He says, and Stiles gapes.

What?

What the fuck?

"Why the fuck would you do that?"

He shrugs.  "Call it thanks for getting me out of this cage." 

"No."  Stiles says shortly, and the man appears shocked that Stiles would deny his offer.  "You want something in return.  Everyone does."  Ever since he was stolen away from his home, that's practically been his motto. 

Nothing is free.  Everyone wants something.  The Alphas want something.  Does he think they're just letting him live in the Colony for free?  No.  No way.  They stole him away for a reason.  They're just waiting until he lets his guard down.  Waiting until he's softened up enough to them, and then they'll swoop in and claim that which is theirs.

Stiles has no intention of hopping from one shitty situation right into another.  No fucking way.

"But, what do you want?  Are you going to take me to another city just so another overlord can make me their glorified _thing_.  Or, do you want to fuck me?  Is that it?  I suck your cock, and in return you'll take me across the wastelands?"  Stiles growls.  "Are you going to tell me how to get to the Westernlands, or not?" 

The man shakes his head, but he looks sick, like he's wondering what Stiles went through to get into this situation.

"Then fuck you."  Stiles hisses, turning around to go back the way he came.  He'll figure out some other way to get back home, one without so many variables.

He feels a hand reach out and grab his wrist and he's swinging the spike around.  The man barely manages to duck out of its path, before Stiles thrusts the serrated metal at him again.

"Genim Stilinski!"  The man calls, his eyes wide, and Stiles pausing his motion, his eyes narrowing.

"How do you know my name?"  Stiles' fist tightens around the spike.

"Your father placed a bounty on you.  I recognized your face from the poster."  The man rushes, eyeing the rusty weapon in Stiles' hand.

"You're telling me, my dad's offering pay for my safe return."  The man nods, and Stiles lowers the spike.  This man is willing to cross the wasteland for pay, not out of the goodness of his heart.  That, Stiles can understand.

"Call me Stiles."  The man looks puzzled, so he explains.  "I don't like being called Genim, so you'd better get used to calling me Stiles if I'm traveling with you."  Stiles sticks out his right hand.

The man stares down, studying Stiles, probably wondering why he changed his mind so easily, but regardless, he takes Stiles' hand, shaking it.

"Derek Hale."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished the art for the next chapter, and I'm so gosh diggeldy darn proud of it, so it should be up maybe by tomorrow.
> 
> When I think of Beacon Hills, I picture an amalgamation of Ra Paulette's sandstone caves and Antelope Canyon in Arizona.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles sneaks Derek through the corridors, telling him to stay far enough behind so they are not seen together.  He had dusted Derek, covering him in a thin layer of talcum, hiding the tattoo and his bitumen hair, blending him in with the other denizens of the Colony.  Derek's bulkier than most, yet he still manages to pull it off, keeping his head down, and importantly, not glaring at anyone.

Now, the Feral Wolf looks like a nondescript, surprisingly well fed, talcum man. 

Stiles pulls open his room door, and noticing Isaac sitting on his bed, puts a finger to his mouth.  A few moments later, Derek enters after him, and Isaac sits up with a gasp.  Stiles makes shushing noises, eyes wide, waving his hands like a madman, while Derek just rolls his eyes. 

As Stiles grabs the chair sitting by the door, wedging it under the handle, Derek walks over to Isaac, greeting him, in nicer fashion than he did Stiles.

Isaac only really calms down after Stiles explains the situation.  No, there isn't a rabid talcum man in their room playing nice.  Yes, this is the man that will help Stiles cross the wasteland.  No, he doesn't want Stiles to suck his cock, but he will be paid to help him.  Standard stuff.

Stiles sits on his bed, packing away all his meager belongings, while Derek uses a small piece of polished steel as a mirror to clean off the talcum and the wounds on his back left from the guards' tasers and the spikes in the cage. 

Isaac joins him, and Stiles turns to him.  "Are you sure you don't want to come?" 

Isaac nods at Stiles' question.  "I'm sure."  Stiles makes a face.

"I'll miss you."  Stiles reaches out, and pulls Isaac into a hug, tucking his face into Isaac's clean neck, feeling his curly hair tickle.  "You're like my brother, dude."  Stiles feels Isaac's mouth quirk.

"And you're mine."  Isaac says, before leaning even closer and whispering into Stiles' ear.  "Did you pack your bottles?"  Stiles nods, he has a year's supply.  It's enough to get him home, and enough to last a while after so he can discuss his condition with Deaton, and replicate the ingredients.

 Stiles looks over at Derek, watching the man wrap another bandage around his torso, before trying it tight.  He wonders if he can truly trust what the man's claiming; if his dad really offered a bounty for his safe return, but then Stiles snorts, of course his dad would, Stiles would do the same for him.  They're all each other has left. 

He believes in his father, if not Derek.

As if reading his mind, Derek turns around, and catches Stiles eye, while Stiles continues to study him unabashedly. 

"You good, Sour Wolf?"  Stiles breaks the staring contest with a grin, and Derek growls, exactly like a wolf, making Stiles grin wider.

"Peachy."  He snarks.

"Brilliant."  Stiles claps his hands together.  "We've got lots of stuff to do before we take this party on the road, so up and at 'em, big guy."  Stiles exclaims.

Derek turns his head to Isaac.  "Is he always this..."  Derek struggles for a word to describe Stiles' awesomeness.  "This?" 

"Yup."  Isaac snorts, popping the p. 

Stiles gasps affronted.  "I thought you were my brother, Isaac."

"You know, generally, siblings can't stand each other, right?"  Isaac quirks a brow, smiling teasingly at Stiles.

"My life is a lie."  Stiles says dramatically, before fastening up the buckles on his duffle, touching the pocket containing the bottles wrapped up in a thick cut of leather, reassuring himself that they're still there.  That they're safe.

Derek sighs, getting up from his chair, wandering over to the window.  "We should start planning an escape sooner rather than later."

"Dude, I've been organizing this jail break for months now, so sit down, shut up, and let me handle this."  Stiles says to Derek and the man raises a heavy brow.

"Don't worry about it."  Stiles reassures him, and Derek frowns.  "I had only been in the Colony a month, the last time I tried, and even then,  I'd managed to walk right out the front door, before an enforcer saw me and tasered me."  They are incredibly lax on security in the Colony.  Stiles figures it's because the enforcers don't think the Alphas' things are stupid enough to walk out into the wasteland with just the clothes on their backs. 

"We can escape easy enough, so long as we're smart about it and aren't seen." 

Derek crosses his arms, leaning against the window still.  "And how are we supposed to accomplish that?"

Stiles grins deviously.  "How do you feel about sewage?"

Derek grimaces, but suddenly the door rattles, and the three of them turn wide eyes to stare at it, as the chair blocking the door waggles precariously.

Stiles is the first to jump into action, pushing Derek away from the window.  "Hide."  He whispers fearfully, and Derek rolls under his bed, Stiles positioning the sheets so they cover the gap between the bed and the floor.  Isaac gets up, and moves the now creaking chair out of the way, stepping back just in time, as the door slams open, almost clipping him.

There's an enforcer standing in the doorway, looking bored.  "The Alphas want to see you."

No, Stiles is so close, it can't just slip out of his fingers like this. He turns to Isaac who's looking at him with eyes just as wide.

"But-"  Stiles starts, and the enforcer marches his way to Isaac, grabbing him, and Stiles, in shock, does nothing but stare in horror as his friend is picked up and tossed over the enforcer's massive shoulder like he's nothing but a sack of oats.

"Stiles!"  Isaac cries, snapping Stiles out of his shock.  Stiles jumps to attention, but his legs tangle in his stupid fucking bed sheets, and he falls to the floor, scraping his hands and knees on the rough sandstone, skinning his palms. 

Cursing his useless limbs, tears form in his eyes at the sting of shredded flesh, but he blinks them away as he numbly watches Isaac and his captor disappear, the door slamming behind them.  He can hear, faintly, Isaac screaming his name, until his desperate cries fade.  But before he manages to untangle himself, and chase after Isaac, Derek crawls out from under the bed, and grabs him, arms tight around his chest.

"Isaac!"  Stiles screams, kicking and screaming at his restraints; human and cloth.  "No! Let go of me!"  He struggles, pushing away at Derek's arms as they tighten around him.  "Isaac!"

 

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/117694392457/art-for-chapter-three-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

"Shut up.  Do you want them to come back?"  Derek growls, and Stiles clams up, still struggling to get free.

"Let me go."  Stiles pleads.

"Will you promise not to chase after him?"  Stiles sobs and that's answer enough.  "Then no."  Derek turns him around, and grabs his hands, wincing at his red, bleeding palms.  "You won't be able to help if you go running after him like this."

"But it's my fault."  Stiles whimpers, tears blurring his vision.  "If I hadn't stolen the key, they wouldn't have come for him." 

"You don't know that, besides, if it was about the key, they would've taken both of you."

"But what else could it be?"  Stiles looks into Derek's eyes, hissing.  "The Alphas have never summoned us before, we've been here six months and that's _never_ happened."  Derek grabs Stiles' bed sheet, tearing a strip off to clean Stiles' hands.  He pulls Stiles up, making him sit on edge of the bed, before moving to the metal stand in the corner where a clay pitcher of water sits. 

"No."  Stiles pushes Derek away, when he comes back with the wet cloth and starts wiping Stiles' palms, cleaning the blood away.  "I have to go after him."  Stiles struggles to stand up with his skinned knees, but Derek growls, and pushes at his shoulder, forcing him to sit back down. 

"You won't be of any help."

"I can't just do nothing.  I don't even know what they're going to do to him."  Stiles shrills, cringing as Derek picks sand out of the scrapes.

"I'm guessing you'd be unwilling to leave now?"

Stiles just looks at Derek, and he sighs.  "I thought so."  He wraps up Stiles' palms.

"I'm not leaving without him."  Stiles says resolutely, once he finds Isaac, he's coming with Stiles whether he wants to or not.  Whether he has to drag him out of the Colony kicking and screaming.

"I figured."  Derek sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I need to get him back."

"God, if you weren't worth so much..."  Derek mumbles, and Stiles stops listening to him, he doesn't need to hear about Derek's monetary motives now.  He needs to find Isaac quickly. 

But where could they have taken him?  For sure he'll be in the Alpha's private quarters, but how is Stiles supposed to get in?  It's not like there's a certain time of day all the Alphas leave their quarters at the same time. 

Except. 

There is.

The water ceremony.  When the Alphas convene in front of the whole Colony, turning on the pipes for the day, bringing water to the people, reinforcing just whose benevolence allows this fucking Colony to exist in the middle of a damned desert.

Isaac and Stiles have never attended, a small form for protest that goes largely unnoticed, but he knows, from the ringing silence in the corridors, that almost everyone else does.  Usually, the ceremony lasts a scant half hour, leaving Stiles barely enough time to search through the Alphas' quarters.  He'll have to have everything ready before they go find Isaac.

Stiles pulls Derek out of his grumbling, poking at his shoulder, and when the man turns annoyed eyes on him, he tells him the plan.

***

Derek wakes him, when the room's still dark, the sun not even peeking above the horizon.  Stiles had packed Isaac's things into his duffle, making sure to hide the extra blue bottles from Derek's prying eyes.  The pills are something he doesn't need to explain to someone he doesn't trust.

Stiles quickly gathers his duffle, and they're out the door, just as the horizon turns a faint red, and the sun starts to rise.

The corridors are full of people, but while most of them head to the ground level, Stiles and Derek climb up, the halls emptying the further up they go. 

Stiles had given Derek his extra tank to wear, and it stretches across his shoulders, just barely hanging together at the seams, but at least it covers up the triskelion.  If Derek tears it, Stiles swears he will make the man sit with needle and thread and sew it up again; he only has two shirts, and can't afford to have one fall apart on him. 

This time, talcum only coats Derek's pitch black hair, since the man refused to powder it all over his body again, he said it made him itchy, and when Stiles called him a wimp, he growled like it's his natural form of expression.

The halls are completely empty by the time they make it to the Alphas' quarters, a massive open area taking up a few levels in the Colony.  The colossal vault within is rumored to be full to the brim with relics from the past, things Stiles has only read about in books.  Once upon a time, he would've been eager to explore what is in the vault.  Now, all he wants to do is find Isaac and go home.

Six months ago his curiosity got him into this situation, it's sure as hell not going to help him get out.

"You search the upper levels."  He tells Derek, before leaving the man, hunting through the lover level, silently and efficiently, opening each door, sticking in head in for a few moments, checking if Isaac's there.  

Eventually he reaches the end of a hallway, and the last door.  Crossing his fingers, he opens it, and breathes a sigh of relief.

"Isaac."  He says, walking up to the cage, sectioning off almost the entire room.  The boy in question lies on a hard palette, wrapped up tight in a thin dirty blanket.  "Isaac."  He says again, reaching his arm through the bars, poking at the boy, who stirs, awakening.

"Stiles?"  Isaac, sits up with a start.  "Stiles!"  He throws himself at the bars.  "Do you have the pills with you?"  Isaac asks, frantic, and Stiles nods.  "Quickly, give me one."  Stiles springs into action, rummaging in his duffle, pulling out a bottle, knocking a pill out into his wrapped up palm.  Isaac snatches the pill off of his hand, and dry swallows it, before finally breathing a sigh of relief.

"Isaac?"  Stiles asks worried.  Usually Isaac takes his dose in the evening, right before bed, while Stiles takes his in the morning.  They're not supposed to mess up the system, it makes them nauseous.

"Stiles, they refused to give me a pill."

"What?"   Stiles gasps.

"I know."  Isaac shivers, drawing his arms around himself, and Stiles sees goose pimples covering his skin.  The night must of been absolute torture for Isaac.  "Just get me out of here."

Stiles nods, and studies the lock on the cage, pulling out the master key, Stiles tries to fit it in the lock, but it won't go.  Frustrated, he kicks at the metal, stubbing his toe and cursing his shit luck.

"Need some help?"  Stiles whips around, and Derek stands behind him, a heavy steel carburetor in one hand.  Stiles doesn't even question where it came from, car parts are always scattered around the Colony, and unfortunately Stiles has the misfortune, or clumsiness, of tripping over most of them.

"What do you plan on doing with that?"  Stiles scoffs.  "Repair a car?"  Derek just raises a brow and pushes Stiles out of the way, before slamming the carburetor down hard on the padlock, once, twice, three times, with increasingly loud clanging noises, until the shackle snaps out of the lock's body with a resounding snap.

Stiles makes a face, hoping no one was near to hear that.  "That works too."  He admits reluctantly as Derek tosses aside the carburetor, and opens the cage for Isaac, who shoots right out, straight into Stiles arms, knocking the breath right out of his body with a small, "oof."

"You good?"  Stiles pets Isaac's back, soothing him, as Isaac nods into his neck.  "Great."

"I'm coming with you, I don't want to stay here a second longer."  Well, at least Stiles doesn't have to argue with him about it.

They leave the Alphas' quarters with just minutes to spare.  Stiles watches people repopulating the corridors as they head down deeper into the Colony, not quite as deep as the prisons, but just below ground level where the sewers are located.

Now comes the fun part.

Weeks before, Stiles had traded a few extra ration cards for a small roll of bitumen cloth he stitched into a sack.  Now, he pulls the heavy cloth from his duffle, unfolding it.  Undressing, he places all his clothes in the sack, including his underwear.  He's all too willing to sacrifice modesty for an extra pair of clean briefs.

Standing up again, after placing his duffle in the bitumen sack, he notices Isaac and Derek looking everywhere, but at him; still wearing their clothes.

"What are you doing?"  Stiles asks wondering why he's the only naked one.

"I was about to ask you the same question."  Isaac retorts, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"Unless you want to be naked out in the wasteland, you might want to keep the only set of clothes you own as clean as possible."  Derek sighs, and pulls Stiles' extra shirt off his head, arms flexing, as he tugs off the too-tight fabric, folding it and tossing it in the sack, before unbuttoning his slacks. 

Stiles looks away before Derek catches him watching.

When they're all naked as they day they were born, clothes folded and tucked away in the sealed sack Stiles designates Derek to carry, He takes a deep breath before pushing open the sewer door, and immediately he's hit with a wall of putrid stench.  Gagging, he resolutely walks further into the dimly lit tunnels, small amounts of interrupted light provided from grates to the world above.

"It smells worse than an talcum man's armpit."  Isaac comments and Stiles agrees fully, he doesn't think talcum men ever take baths, but it smells like a huge room of stewing, unwashed, dead ones in here.

The actual sewage flows in channels dug into the ground, and thankfully there's a narrow pathway built along the channel, so they don't have to travel in the waste.  For now. 

He knows they won't be so lucky for long.

The sewer map Stiles stole from the enforcer's barracks months ago and memorized, runs through his head, as he plans out a path to take. 

Originally, Stiles was supposed to escape at night and steal a vehicle from the outdoor lot, but now, that would be too dangerous, as the whole Colony readies itself to pack up and travel out to the rocking horses, switching shifts with the night watch.

They'll have to settle with a vehicle from the graveyard, and so, the route Stiles plans only involves a short ten foot walk through the sewage, which is admittedly better than the half a mile swim to the car park.

Eventually, the tunnel narrows, and the path ends.  "Are you guys ready?"  Stiles asks, swiping at some splashed mud on his face, it doesn't matter that he isn't even in the filth yet, if he wore his clothes they'd already be ruined from the splashes and drips of the sewage as it slowly flows down the channels, gravity taking it away from the Colony.

"Let's just get this over with."  Derek says with a sour expression.

"I agree with Sour Wolf."   Isaac nods, and Stiles claps his hands together with fake enthusiasm.

"Alrighty, who wants to take the first dip?  Pick a number, any number?"  Derek rolls his eyes, and pushes Stiles in.  Stiles shrieks as his arms pinwheel in an admittedly comedic way, attempting to regain his balance, but it's all for naught, and he falls in with a splash.

"Fucker!"  Stiles exclaims as he surfaces from the sewage, spitting filth out of his mouth, it only comes up to mid thigh, but thanks to Derek, he's covered head to toe.  "You're such a piece of shit, dude."  Stiles whines as he feels something slimy float past, touching his dick. 

Maybe he should've left is underwear on.

Derek shrugs before climbing in, Isaac following after.  "I'm going to get you back."  Stiles grumbles, leading them the last ten feet to freedom.  "I'm gonna get you back so good."

Derek smirks like the asshole he is, and Stiles huffs, looking away from the stupid man with his stupid body, and stupid nice dick.

And whoa, his thoughts really got away from him there. 

Anyway, back on topic.

Stiles points to an grate in the ceiling, maybe four feet above their heads.

"Pick me up."  Stiles pokes at Derek, and the man complies, wrapping his thick arms around Stiles' waist, lifting him so he can get the leverage necessary to push against the grate, shifting it out of the way.  Stiles looks down at Derek, giving him a thumbs up, only to see the man in question with his eyes closed tight, Isaac in stitches beside him.

And now Stiles feels like blushing. 

If his face was that close to a man's junk, he would be doing worse things than just squeezing his eyes closed.  He'd probably freak the hell out.  Derek truly is a brave man, an asshole, but still brave.

"Dude, can you push me further up?"  Stiles taps Derek's shoulder, and the man huffs out a breath, right over his junk before complying.  Just nope, not happening, this is not the right time, and Derek is not the right person.

Derek's holding on tight to Stiles' calves, Isaac helping to support his weight with an extra set of hands, while Stiles slowly peeks his head out of the manhole, looking all around before declaring it all clear, scrambling out.

Next, he pulls Isaac out, and together they grab onto Derek's hands as the man jumps, and they somehow manage to tug his dead weight out of the manhole.

"Sheesh, dude, do you eat lug nuts for breakfast?"  Stiles pants, lying spread eagle, on the dusty earth, covered head to toe in absolute filth, trying to catch his breath.  This has not been a good day so far.  Except for the fact they're almost home free.

"Don't call me dude."  Derek climbs to his feet, looking around the car graveyard surrounding them.  "Do any of these work?"  Derek questions, frowning at a off-roader rusted through, the engine lying in parts in the dust.

"Unlikely." 

"What do we do now?"  Isaac runs his fingers through his messy curls, now matted with filth.

Stiles sneezes, rubbing the filth from his face, glaring at Derek.  "Let's find a water pump."

There's a small hand pump in the middle of the yard, and Derek has to push and pull at the stiff handle a few times before the water flows, slightly pink at first, clearing eventually.

Stiles rinses off the bitumen sack before untying it, finding his duffel delightfully dry and sewage free, he carefully rummages around for the lard soap, breaking off tiny pieces and handing them around.

He unwraps his hands, grumbling at the dirty wound, thankfully scabbed over so he doesn't have to worry about infection.  Stiles glances at Derek's back, and finds his wounds in the same state, scabbed over but still dirty.

Derek pours water over his naked back, and Stiles looks away.

When he's squeaky clean, Stiles pulls on clothes over wet skin, and wanders around the graveyard, finding a few scattered jerrycans, some with what smells like gasoline, others containing god knows what.

Stiles laughs when he finds a pair of weather worn black leather chaps in the back of a pickup truck.  Pulling them on he finds they fit him perfectly.

"Isaac."  When the boy looks at him, Stiles models, posing, and Isaac bursts into a fit of laugher, and even Derek cracks a reluctant smile.  Stiles keeps the chaps, reasoning they could be useful in a sandstorm.

Stiles peeks around cars and trucks, trying to find a vehicle that at least isn't rusted through, and when he spots a familiar vehicle, he cracks a smile.

His mother's car looks as familiar as the day his dad handed him the keys, as the day the raiders grabbed him while he was out joy riding with Scott, except for the massive welded spikes attacked to the roof and front bumper. 

The mechanics in the Colony have the weirdest sense of aesthetic. 

Stiles props open the hood.  The jeep always had a slight problem with the starter system, a problem only his mom knew how to fix, a problem she taught Stiles to fix when he was just a kid.

He's tinkering around with some wires in the electronics system when Derek finds him.

"Does it work?"

Stiles twists a wire back into place.  "It should now, try it."  Derek starts the car and the engine purrs to life.  Stiles cheers, raising his hand for a high five, only to be denied as Derek ignores him, climbing into the driver's side.

"Hey!"  Stiles protests.

Derek raises a brow.

"My jeep, I drive." 

Derek sighs, climbing over the gear shift, moving over into the passenger's seat as Stiles takes the vacated driver's side

Stiles pulls up in front of the water pump, to Isaac's cheers.  Together, they roll over an abandoned plastic barrel, rinsing it out, before filling it to the brim with clean water, Derek helping them to lift it in the back of the jeep.

Isaac had found a few long rubber tube in one of the trucks, and so the three of them go around the yard, opening fuel tank covers, and siphoning  gasoline into the jerrycans, quickly and efficiently.  By the end of it, they have eight sloshing cans, a full tank, and the taste of fuel on their tongues.

Derek says it's more than enough to get them to where the rest of his crew should be waiting for him.

It's only when they're a mile away driving out in the wasteland, home free, when the siren sounds.  "Seems they finally noticed us missing."  Stiles laughs and cracks on the radio, grinning when the only station in tune plays classic rock.  Their captors might've been the biggest assholes to ever asshole, but at least they broadcast damn good music.

"Born to be wild!"  Stiles belts out with the cracking radio, blatantly out of tune, and Derek groans.  As the jeep bumps up and down along the dusty ancient asphalt, Isaac holding on for dear life in the back.  The wasteland stretching out in front of them, far as the eye can see.

This is going to be an amazing two thousand miles.  He's fucking free.

Now he just has to get home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art for the next chapter is already drawn and coloured, now I just have to write it, which is the hard part....
> 
> Next up, Derek's crew (aka the pack)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favourite chapter and art so far, I love writing from Derek's point of view, and there's actual scenery in this art! Take into account the rating change and new tags, enjoy!

Derek regrets a lot of things.  He regrets allotting his family's murderers a relatively painless death.  He regrets letting his uncle live after a colossal betrayal.  Regret just is something synonymous with Derek, and it comes so naturally to him.

At the moment, he's never regretted anything more than liberating Stiles from the Colony. 

The boy never shuts up.  Ever.

"Hey, Derek, do you think sand people exist?"  Derek groans.  So many regrets.  The reward the Sheriff's offering for his son's return is not worth the mental and physical scarring Stiles is affecting on him.  Just the day before, when Stiles was out on one of his tangents, his hand had shot out clipping Derek on the jaw, and it fucking _stung_.  For such a skinny, defenseless boy, Stiles really knows how to put power behind a backhand.

"Stiles."  _Shut the fuck up_ , Derek implies in his tone.

"Nah, hear me out man,"  And of course Stiles ignores him.  "A few weeks ago I woke up with sand all over my pillow, it was even in my hair!  What other explanation could there be?"  Stiles questions, rambling, as the jeep bumps into a particularly large ditch in the road, jostling the three of them, and Derek almost whacks his head on the window, improving his mood substantially.

"Actually that was my fault."  Isaac says.  Derek looks in the rearview mirror, watching Isaac scratching his head sheepishly.  "I opened a window, and forgot to close it before going to sleep.  There was a sandstorm overnight."

"Oh."  Stiles pouts, disappointed his ludicrous theory no longer has any grounds in the truth.

"Sorry."

"It's fine, man."  Stiles shrugs, and for a minute Derek thinks that ridiculous conversation is over, beautiful silence taking its place, but then,  "You have to admit, it's still possible." 

Derek feels like bashing his head open on the dash, a painful death via car would be better than this torture.

At least they lost the radio signal a few miles outside the Colony.

Derek scans the ochre landscape, keeping an eye out for landmarks.  A shriveled grove of banana yucca marks him halfway to where Erica and Boyd are waiting for him to come back with supplies.  Only he's coming back without the things they needed _and_ two more bodies to feed, the only good thing to come out of this whole ordeal is the reward awaiting them when they return Stiles back to the Westernlands, and who knows?  Maybe the Sheriff will give them a bonus for bringing Stiles' friend along with them.

"Stiles pull over."  Derek says when he notices a few of the yucca still bearing fruit.  They don't have to most pleasant taste, but any food is better than nothing when the small package of oats Stiles brought with him runs out. 

Derek instructs the boys, teaching them about what they should look out for when picking fruit:  young, still green and unsplit. 

Derek has a nearly a whole bag full of yucca, when the smell of rot draws him away from the plants.

Carefully approaching a rock outcropping, he picks up a sharp looking rock, just in case whatever caused the stench of rotting flesh is still there, and rounds the corner, finding a body ripped apart among a campsite. 

Derek drops the rock and studies the remains, it looks like a coyote did the deed, shredding the man's heels before biting at his femoral artery.  He bled out in minutes, and probably didn't get to enjoy the experience of the coyote feasting on his flesh.

"What the hell happened to that dude?"  Stiles asks from behind him, his voice a combination of disgust and curiosity.  At least he isn't puking his guts out over the corpses' torn out guts.

"Coyote."

"Seriously?  The one's near Beacon Hills would always run away from humans." 

Only a desperate animal thinks of taking on a human, this coyote was probably at its staving point, even if it seems like it isn't any longer, Derek sees the man's thighs have _chunks_ taken out of them..  

"Look through his bag.  See if you can find anything we can use."  While Stiles walks over to the bags inside a nearby ATV, Derek looks the corpse, already seeing something useful.

A Desert Eagle sits in the man's chalky and blood splattered hand, bullets still loaded in the mag where he never got a chance to fire on the coyote before he bled out.  Derek thinks the combat knife still strapped to the holster on the man's thigh would have been a better choice against an animal in such close quarters, but some people just don't think very well in dangerous situations, and that gets them killed.

"Derek!"  Stiles exclaims, and Derek turns to look at the boy where he's doing what can only be described as a victory dance.  "Dead dude has fucking everything.  I could kiss him, except ew."  Stiles pulls out a cooking pot, a box of flints, and points to a massive sack of what Derek thinks is barley.  "And there's even more in here."  Stiles rummages in the dead man's ATV.

Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles' enthusiasm, even if he feels just as excited.  This is a damn lucky find, one in a million.  Usually raiders have already gone through, taking anything useful, when Derek comes across a dead body, this is a first for him, one of many he hopes.  Maybe Stiles is lucky, if annoying.

Derek unstraps the man's gun's holster, cringing when he sees the leather covered in dried blood that's unlikely to ever really come out.  He scrapes the worst of it off with the knife before strapping it to his thigh.

Isaac's eyes bug out of his head as they make their way back to the jeep, probably wondering if guns and knives and sacks of barley now grow on shrubs.

It takes them two trips to load everything into the jeep.  The dead man's ATV is useless to them, so they leave it to the elements along with the man's corpse, but not before siphoning out all the gasoline in the tank.

They end up with a sack of pearl barley, cooking implements, flints, a few boxes full of .44 cartridges, various toiletries, extra clothing that's just a bit too baggy on the boys, but fits Derek perfectly, and the gun and knife Derek has strapped in their proper holsters.

Not to mention the two sacks of yucca fruit.

Derek's rummaging around in the man's duffle while Stiles drives, talking to Isaac about the bite of raw yucca he took then immediately spat out, as a disgusted Derek looked on.  Stiles had changed out of his dirty tank into the dead man's thin longcoat, forgoing a shirt, wearing the ridiculous chaps that look anything but ridiculous on the boy's long legs.  He hates to admit Stiles is attractive, but the boy is beautiful.  It's just a fact Derek happens to notice.

Derek finds a soft blue mohair scarf he can use to cover his head from the beating heat absorbed by his black hair.  He's petting at it, marveling something so soft, when he feels something hard through the fabric stored away in a hidden pocket.  Grabbing scissors from  the toiletry kit, Derek carefully makes a small incision in the heavy fabric. 

He finds two wedding rings when he reaches his fingers inside, they're pure gold, and a bit scratched but completely untarnished.  He studies the inside of the rings, finding the initials of the dead man and his wife roughly engraved.

Stiles eyes bug out when he sees them, but he says nothing when Derek tucks the rings into a pocket in the worn leather jacket he pulled off the dead man, thankfully untouched by blood.

He thinks he'll give them to Erica and Boyd, since they have nothing physical signifying their bond, unless they count Derek officiating the ceremony a few years ago, and all the fucking they get up to when they think Derek's sleeping.  Giving the rings back their purpose is more respectful to the dead man and wife than just melting them down to trade. 

***

They stop for dinner, pulling off the road, and driving a mile through the sagebrush to get to a safe area away from the highway, just as the sun begins to set.  It's too dangerous to drive at night on the wasteland, with raiders looking for easy pickings, since they usually prefer the night to attack the roads, when guns are rendered useless due to low visibility. 

In the distance he hears the sharp crack of an explosion, looking off in to the horizon, framed by a soft halo of the setting sun, Derek watches as a rocking horse, miles away, catches on fire, lighting up the sky in a fiery inferno.

"It's beautiful."  Stiles says staring enraptured, out into the distance.  Derek leans against the jeep, resting a foot on the wheel as he studies the boy who's soon to make his crew very rich.

 

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/117864735627/art-for-chapter-four-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

"If you were close to it, you wouldn't be saying the same thing." 

"But I'm not close, I'm right here."  Stiles turns to face Derek, his face unreadable.  "And from here, it looks very beautiful."

Derek snorts.  "You'd be one to think that a bunch of people dying in a fiery explosion is something pretty to look at."  Derek pushes away from the jeep, going to help Isaac set up the fire to cook some barley and yucca fruit for dinner.

"What's that supposed to mean?"  Stiles calls after his retreating form.  "Derek!"

After Isaac puts the barley on the fire to cook, Stiles takes over, watching it, while Derek takes Isaac out into a stretch of grasses he finds tucked amid the hills, looking for rabbits.

Derek shows Isaac how to take tie a noose from a simple cord, and it takes Isaac a few tries, but eventually he gets it, tying a perfect noose.  

"Look out for grass that appears like it's been tread on a few times, but knock a few rocks out into the undergrowth before you dig around in it, you don't want to get bitten by a snake."  Isaac happily scouts around, finding a few runs, indicating a huge rabbit population, meaning a lack of large predators in the area.  _Good_ , Derek thinks, it means the animals won't be so wary of their foreign scents.

Derek bends down beside a run, plunging a thick stick of dried wood into the earth, securing the cord to the stick.

"My brother used to take me out shooting for rabbits."  Isaac breaks the silence.  "He had a large compound bow, and he showed me how to use it."  Isaac giggles, thinking about fond memories.  "He would get so pissed when I hit more rabbits than him."

Derek quirks his mouth.  "Erica's going to love you." 

Isaac smiles.  "Really?"  He asks hopefully.

"No."  Derek snorts, ruffling Isaac's hair.  "She hates archers, ever since one shot her husband by mistake.  She thinks they're all incompetent."  Derek moves to another run.

"Oh."  Isaac trails after him, dejected.

"Don't worry, I'm sure your baby face will eventually win her over, she's a sucker for the cute ones."  And Derek remembers exactly why, frowning at the bad memory. 

Only a few weeks after he lost Laura, Derek came across Erica and Boyd walking along the highway.  Derek had stopped the camaro when she stuck her thumb out.  Normally, he doesn't pick up hitchhikers for obvious reasons, but he was so lonely without Laura and there was something so dejected about the couple, resonating within himself, he had to pick them up.

Erica and Boyd were slaves belonging to a cattle rancher.  He used Boyd for his muscle, and Erica for house chores and, well, Stiles and Isaac were lucky compared to her, at least they never had to have sex with their captors.

Erica and Boyd fell in love on the ranch, and were together for years until she eventually became pregnant.  Knowing that their master was infertile, they planned an escape, but were caught, and Erica lost the baby violently in the confrontation.  In a rage, Boyd killed their master only a week after they were brought back to the ranch, sweet revenge for years upon years of abuse and torture.

And that's when Derek found them, wandering along the highway, half delirious and out of their minds from heat exhaustion and dehydration after their car broke down, and they ran out of supplies.

Derek's good at taking care of people.  He paid for the decorative gold septum ring Boyd replaced the ring his old master had forced him to wear to mock him, calling him an animal like the cattle he was forced to care for.  Derek was the one to convince Boyd to not let the piercing heal over, but wear it like a badge of honor of what he's been through, decorating his septum with something his old master could never even dream to afford. 

In turn, Erica got her labrum pierced, and after she whined and groaned about healing times, Boyd had the bridge of his nose pierced to keep her company, so sparking a sort of body modification competition between the two of them that only ended when Erica traded the full bounty from a wanted serial killer, she managed to catch all on her own, for the sleeve tattoos covering her arms in gorgeous vegetal motifs, copied from ancient posters the artist had in his shop. 

Sometimes Derek catches the two of them in a private moment, watching as Boyd traces the tattoos on Erica's skin as lovingly as can be, in those moments Derek aches to feel that way about someone, but he knows that would take the kind of trust he could never imagine to allot anyone. 

Still, stopping for them five years ago is something Derek knows he will never regret.

He lets Isaac set up the next noose, and when he does it correctly, they separate, setting up four more snares, before heading back to camp.

"Bad pickings?"  Stiles asks stirring the pot of cooking barley, raising his eyebrows at their empty hands, Derek rolls his eyes before plopping down on a smooth rock beside Stiles, Isaac taking the boy's other side.  "I thought you were good at this whole survival thing."  Stiles points the spoon accusingly as Derek grabs a hot piece of yucca, chewing and swallowing, before answering.

"The traps need to be left overnight when the rabbits are most active."

"Suuure.  Or maybe you're just incompetent."  Stiles says sarcastically.

Derek makes sure to spoon extra roasted yucca in Stiles' portion, but unfortunately the boy only hates the raw fruit, and happily eats the cooked version with glee.  Derek pokes at his food, but eats it all anyway, his plan for petty revenge, thwarted.

***

It's cold as balls at night on the wasteland, the sun disappears over the horizon, and eventually all the residual heat in the ground sucks up into the air, dissipating.  Derek wraps himself tighter in the leather jacket, keeping watch on Stiles and Isaac as they're cuddled up close together, sleeping under the large coat in the back of the jeep

He leans back against the windshield, resting on the jeep's hood.  The milky way stretching out above him, countless numbers of burning balls of gas filling up the night sky, as cloudless as it always is.  Rain is something rare and practically unheard of.  And Derek's only experienced it once in his life, on his parent's ranch when he was just a little kid.  Then, he was still too young to understand its importance as they were never short on water, living right on top of an aquifer. 

He never understood just how desperate people were for water until _they_ came. 

The raiders.  Razing his house to the ground with his family still inside.

The three of them: Laura, Peter, and Derek, only escaped because Peter took them out into the grazing fields to look at the stars, it was a horrible experience to come back to a burnt out shell of a house, two raiders whooping in cheer, like murdering a family of eight was something to revel in.

Peter had calmly walked over to his truck and picked up his bolt action hunting rifle, coldly and efficiently shooting the two celebrating men clean in the chest, one after the other. 

Peter's childhood sweetheart and wife was in that house, eight months pregnant.  Derek is still surprised to this day, that Peter had even bothered giving Derek the gun to finished the men off, and Derek still regrets just shooting them in the head from close range.  They deserved much worse than that.

Fire and smoke inhalation is a slow and painful way to die.

A meteor streaks, lighting up the sky and Derek follows its path, as he's drawn out of his melancholic thoughts, he can almost hear Laura berating him for not wishing upon the shooting star, but he doesn't do that now, ever since Peter slit her throat and cut her in half in the name of the new religion he found in a shoddy trading post out on the wasteland.  Claiming he was saving the human race by murdering his niece.

All that Derek lives for now is Erica and Boyd, if he didn't have then, well, he thinks he would have shot himself in the head long ago.  He's never been good at being alone.  Those few days in the cage at the Colony were hell, both on his limbs and spirit. 

He was so glad to see the boy he recognized from the marketplace down in the prison, and Derek was just about ready to promise him anything if he would open the cage. 

Derek wasn't lying back then, when he promised to take Stiles across the wasteland, Hales always return debts fully squared, the Sheriff's reward is but a nice bonus.

Derek wakes to the heat of the sunrise on his face.  He gets up, stretching out his muscles, walking far enough away from camp, he takes a piss, wiping his hands on some dried grass on his way back. 

Stiles had left the back of the jeep open allowing for air circulation at night.  He stares at the sleeping boys for a moment, watching as Stiles' soft breaths fan across Isaac's skin, moving his curls.  They look so young and innocent like this, like they're still the same seventeen year olds stolen away from their homes.

Derek pokes at Stiles where he's curled tight around Isaac, a leg thrown over the other boy thighs, but he doesn't stir, instead he snuggles closer.  Annoyed, Derek pinches Stiles' nose, until the boy wakes with a gasp, arms scratching up at Derek.

"Dude, what the fuck?"  Stiles groans when Derek pulls away, rubbing his nose as Isaac stirs awake.  "You couldn't just shake me?"

"Would've taken too long."  Derek closes the back with a snaps after Stiles and Isaac climb out.  He takes Isaac with him to check on and collect the snares.  They find two jackrabbits among the six snares they set up, and Derek teaches Isaac how to break the rabbit's neck with a strong pull, quickly and efficiently.  Isaac manages to do it, even if he does tear up a little bit, swiping them away before he thinks Derek sees.

The rabbits are lean and Derek looks forward to lunch.  And who knows?  Maybe he'll have time to make some rabbit jerky for Erica since she hates eating snake for protein, even though they're easier to catch and find than the quick witted rabbits.  When he hunts for them, snakes tend to curl up, hissing at Derek, not knowing he's armed with a heavy rock to throw at its head, stunning it long enough for him to slice off its head. 

Derek prefers eating rattlers, there's something so satisfying about overcoming the snakes that used to terrorize his family's ranch, killing cattle ruthlessly and for no reason.  He thinks he never really got over the slow horrible death the calf he hand-raised from birth suffered on account of the damned sidewinder that bit her.

Huh, and now that he thinks about it, Stiles kind of has calf-like eyes.  They're big and sweet, lined with dark lashes, and admittedly gorgeous, a total 180 from his frustrating personality leaving something to be desired.  He's only known Stiles for a few days but already he wishes he would just _listen_ to Derek, instead of arguing at every opportunity.

It gets too hot at midday for the jeep to run, so Derek makes Stiles pull over into the shade created by a large rock outcropping a few miles off the road.  And of course Stiles argues, but eventually complies anyway because Derek is fucking right in not wanted the engine to fry in the heat. 

As Derek opens the passenger door, stepping out, he treads on a pink flower, looking around, he notices there are more plants than usual in the area, so there must be a source of groundwater running underneath their feet.  If he's lucky, he might be able to top off their rapidly shrinking water supply if there's a spring.

He's investigating some promising rocks covered in mineral deposits from past water seepage, when he hears a shout of glee.

Wondering if Stiles maybe managed to find the spring Derek was looking for, he follows the sound.  Rounding the outcropping he spots Stiles, just as the boy takes off, running off into a small pond of incredibly murky water, that Derek just knows hides quicksand in its depths.

"Stiles, don't!"  But it's too late, Stiles only looks up at Derek with an expression of worry, when he's already in the pool, far out enough that Derek won't be able to reach for him, watching the exact moment Stiles realizes his mistake.  An expression of horror overcomes his features, as the boy feels himself stick in the thick mud, realizing it's not all water as he thought.

Quicksand.  Sometimes a greater killer than the raiders roaming the wasteland. 

"Stiles."  Derek says calmly.  "Don't move."  He raises placating hands, trying to keep the boy from panicking and being sucked further in as Derek carefully approaches the bank of the pool.

"Don't move!?"  Stiles shrills, wiggling around, slowly but surely sinking in further.  "I'm going to fucking drown, and you're telling me to stop struggling?  I knew you didn't like me, Derek, but I doubt my dad would be willing to cough up the big bucks for my waterlogged corpse."  He laughs like a maniac.  "Isn't that ironic?  I'm going to drown in the middle of a fucking desert." 

"Stiles, trust me, you won't drown."  It's impossible to drown in quicksand, and if Stiles can't get himself out, Derek will have to toss him a rope, hook it to the jeep, and use the horsepower to drag the boy out.

Stiles stares up at him with wide eyes, framed in thick dark lashes, almost golden in the light from the sun.  "Stop fighting it and it won't get worse."  Stiles refrains from moving, but his lips tremble, giving away just how scared he is.

"What now?"  Stiles asks, terrified.

"Try lifting your body up, use your muscles to push your legs to the surface while you lean forward."  Derek instructs patiently.

"What muscles?"  Stiles asks sarcastically, but does as Derek tells him, shifting his body to a more horizontal position, so his weight distributes on the surface of the quicksand, it takes a while, but eventually both of his arms pull free with a squelch.

"Good, Stiles, you're doing so good."

Stiles scoffs.  "That's the first time you've ever told me that."  Stiles frees a leg, easing it to the surface.  Derek ignores his comment, and Stiles frees the other leg.

"Now wiggle towards me."  And Stiles does, half crawling on top of the thick mud, half swimming until he reaches the bank, and Derek grabs his hand, pulling him the rest of the way out.

"You good?  Not hurt anywhere?"  Stiles just nods, exhausted as Derek tugs on his hand, pulling him towards the jeep where Isaac is asleep in the back, oblivious to the commotion.  It's only when Derek opens the cabin door grabbing the bag full of clothes that Isaac blinks sleep out of his eyes, widening as he takes in the sight of Stiles covered head to toe in thick mud.

"What happened?"  He asks blearily.

"Stiles was an idiot."  Derek slams the door shut, and Isaac rolls down the window, head peeking though.  It's a testament to how tired Stiles is as he sits on the ground panting, not even offering up a single protest to Derek's words.

Derek makes Stiles stand up, helping the boy pull off his clothes before the caked on mud dries.  Stiles  frowns at his precious chaps, trying to scrape the mud off with his nails.

"Leave it." 

"But-"

"It will flake off when it dries." Derek reassures Stiles, the coat, on the other hand, might be a lost cause.  The mud soaked into the cotton fibers, he'll let it dry and see, but it probably won't ever get clean, and they cannot waste precious water trying.  Stiles deserves stained clothes.  The idiot.  What would possess him to run into 'water' with all his clothes on, Derek will never know.

When Stiles is naked, rubbing at the offending dirt still covering his body, Derek lies his clothes down in the dirt to dry in the full sun.

"I have an idea."  Stiles says, rummaging around in the jeep, he pulls out one of the long rubber hoses they use to siphon gas.  Walking over to the muddy pond he tosses one end of the pipe into the watery quicksand, and sucks on the other end furiously, his cheeks hollowing in a way that's almost obscene.

 Eventually, he pulls away, just as a stream of only slightly dirty water dribbles out, the mud being too heavy and viscous to get sucked out of the pond with the bare amount of pressure Stiles' mouth provided.

Derek's impressed, he would have never thought of that.

Stiles makes Derek hold on to one end of the hose, as Stiles squats underneath, using two hands to scrub the drying dirt off his skin.  Stiles pinks from the caustic lard soap as more and more skin is reveled, peeking out from under the mud.  Derek renews the suction every time the stream slows to a trickle.

When Stiles goes to wash his hair he frowns, as not matter how much he scrubs at it, the clumps of mud refuse to let go of the light brown strands, Derek watches him give up with a sigh.

"What me to cut it for you?"  Derek doesn't know what makes him offer, every single memory he's had of haircuts involves intimacy and trust: his mother when he was a child, then Laura after his family died, and then Boyd because Erica can't cut hair for shit.  So it's surprising he's offering to do that for Stiles, a relative stranger he only met a few days ago.

Stiles shrugs.  "Might as well.  It's not as if hair's important."  Derek hums in agreement and goes to fetch the scissors from the jeep.  He's forced to dig around for them since Stiles stashed the toiletry kit in his own bag after using the nail clippers right in front of Derek, instead of putting them back into the dead man's duffle.

He returns a few minutes later to finds Stiles awkwardly holding the hose over his junk, Derek looks away while he finishes washing the mud out of his privates, hoping Stiles manages to get the mud out of that hair, because Derek's not going to help him trim that for all the gold in the world.

Derek hears Stiles toss the hose to the side.  "I'm done."  He says, once again squatting with his dick tucked in between his legs where Derek can't see it, affording Stiles some illusion of privacy.

Derek bends over, and starts roughly cutting Stiles' hair off.  With each snip of the scissors a clump of mud clogged hair falls, leaving soft bristles behind.  After the hair is completely roughly cut, Derek runs his fingers over Stiles' scalp, catching any longer strands and snipping them off.  He thinks Stiles leans into his hands, but it might just be his imagination.

"Good?"  Stiles asks after a moment, and Derek realizes he's just been touching Stiles' soft bristles for the past minute, not cutting anything.  Derek clears his throat, and steps away, dusting hair off of Stiles' now dry shoulders.

"Yeah, there's still some mud left, though, you might want to wash it off."

"Cool, grab the hose?"  Derek picks it up, wiping dirt from it, before putting it to his mouth again and sucking.  This time when water comes out, he uses his hands to remove the remaining sludge from Stiles' hair, picking out the sand, and scrubbing lightly behind the boy's ears where he missed a few spots.

"You've got a bit of a sunburn."  Derek says, putting pressure on the pink skin behind Stiles neck, watching it turn white as he removes his finger.

Stiles just shrugs.  "It's nothing I haven't deal with before, I burn easily."  Stiles explains and Derek makes a noise of agreement.

"You're whiter than a primrose."

"Aww, Derek, is that your way of saying I'm pretty like a flower."  Stiles grins at him like a fool, and Derek scratches his nail through Stiles' sunburn in revenge, smirking when Stiles cries out in pain, cursing him.  Derek almost feels like telling Stiles he's pretty like a cow, not a flower, but that would involve calling Stiles pretty, and even though he is, Derek's not about to further stroke the boy's already massive ego.

"Come on."  Derek says, walking away from Stiles.  "Go ask Isaac to help you peel mud off your chaps."

Derek hears Stiles mumble "asshole" not as indiscernible as he thinks and Derek grins.

He doesn't have enough time to turn the rabbits into jerky under the hot sun, so he settles for cooking them over a hot fire, and the three of them feast on the slightly burnt, but still delicious rabbit.

***

They're only about fifty miles away from where he's supposed to meet Erica and Boyd, but the sun's already dangerously low in the sky, and Derek doesn't think it will stay up long enough for the two hours it'll take to drive to them.  He sighs, and asks that Stiles pull over for the night.

Derek recognizes the familiar sandstone formation Stiles parks behind, hiding the car from the view of the road.  He was here, in this exact place with Laura from what feels like a million years ago.

He had gone exploring while his sister got dinner ready, or what only the starving could classify as dinner; Derek always had been the better cook.  He had found a small opening in the sandstone walls, inside was a cave completely protected from the elements.  Derek had fetched Laura, and together they brought a lamp, looking at the beautiful, and older than anything he's ever known, cave paintings on the walls.

He shakes the memories away, and helps Isaac collect roots and pieces of dried wood for a fire, while Stiles slices up some yucca and draws water out for the barley.

They eat dinner in silence, Derek picking at his food, while Stiles fingers the mud stains left on his longcoat.

It's nearly midnight and Derek's still staring up into the sky, resting on the hood of the jeep, when Stiles joins him.

"Isaac's asleep."  The boy says, shifting so he's comfortable, his thigh pressed against Derek's until he feels Stiles' warmth saturate into his bones, chasing away the chill of the night.

"Why aren't you?"

Stiles shrugs.  "It's too beautiful a night."  His long neck stretches out as he leans against the windshield staring up into the night sky.  Derek studies the side of Stiles' face, the light of the billions upon billions of stars, bathing his cheekbones in silver, casting shadows in the hollows.

Derek doesn't know what overcomes him, but he softly touches Stiles' hand, wordlessly asking the boy to follow him, as sides down off the hood, and grabs the gas lantern out of the jeep, making his way around the sagebrush to the cave he showed Laura all those years ago, Stiles following behind him without a word.

As Derek walks into the cave, the light casting its illumination upon the walls bathing the dark red sandstone in soft flicking oranges and yellows, Stiles gasps, reaching out a long fingered hand, like he's just about to touch the swirling geometric shapes and herds of animals painted with red ocher and many fingers so many thousands of years ago.

"Derek..."  Stiles turns to him, his eyes wide and open, the colour of amber honey.  "These are..."

Derek nods.

"Amazing."  Stiles breathes.

"Yeah."

As Stiles walks out of the cave, he stops Derek with a hand on his arm.

"Thank you for showing me that."  He smiles softly and Derek feels something unfamiliar run through his body, and his heart skips a beat.  No one has ever looked at him that way before, smiling, like they share a soft secret.  The constellations on Stiles' shirtless torso, reflect the beauty of the milky way above their heads, as the moon casts her light on the soft skin of Stiles' hand where it's wrapped around his bicep.

Stiles is so beautiful here and now.

So Derek does the one thing he knows.  He pushes Stiles so the boy's back leans against the smooth sandstone of the cave, right beside the entrance, giving Stiles some leeway to pull away if he wants, but Stiles doesn't.  He just stares calmly back at Derek with his honeyed eyes and full mouth, and under the light from the full moon,  Derek drops to his knees.

He hears Stiles' intake of breath, before he feels it where Derek's resting his hand on Stiles' stomach, his palms holding Stiles' slim hips as Derek nuzzles into the dark hair peeking out of Stiles' cotton pants.  Derek takes his time, moving his hands down to Stiles' thighs, soothing the boy's nerves, before shifting his hands to run over the bulge in his pants.  Derek looks up to see Stiles staring down at Derek with eyes so blown, honey isn't visible anymore, his bottom lip bitten between his teeth.

Derek unbuttons Stiles' pants, and eases his underwear down, finding Stiles leaking profusely.  Derek pushes Stiles' clothing all the way down to his knees so the boy's bare ass rests against the sandstone wall.  Derek hums in appreciation as he gives Stiles' cock an idle tug, watching fascinated, as his foreskin moves back to reveal the dark red head, flushed with blood.  He, tentatively, licks the tip, tasting pre come and feeling vibrations as Stiles groans.

"Oh, fuck, Derek."  Stiles whispers as Derek sinks his mouth down on Stiles' cock, his tongue fluttering, massaging the length as Derek easily takes Stiles down his throat, wind ruffling Derek's hair, blowing a cool breeze that raises goose pimples on Stiles' abdomen.  Derek rubs his hands up and down Stiles' body, stomach to knees, chasing away the chill as Derek sucks, cheeks hollowing.

When the winds lets down only a few seconds later, Derek braces a hand on Stiles' thigh, and uses the other to cup his balls rolling them in his palms, and at that moment Derek feels fingers run through his hair, tugging slightly, and Derek groans.

"Okay?"  Stiles asks, and in answer Derek bobs right down, swallowing around Stiles' cock, his throat fluttering.  "I'm close."  Stiles breathes, tugging at Derek's hair, warning him, but Derek just hums around Stiles cock, and the boy moans, the loudest sound he's made since Derek first touched his dick, and Derek feels a rush of hot come hit the back of his throat.  Derek swallows through the aftershocks, his skin on fire, burning in the cool air

It's only when Derek looks up at Stiles, the boy cross eyed and blissed after coming his brains out, that the full extent of what Derek just did hits him. 

This wasn't simply a quick one night stand in a trading post in the middle of god fuck nowhere, blowing off some steam in a very literal way.  He actually has to see Stiles after this, talk to Stiles after this, travel for weeks with Stiles after this.

What if Stiles expects something from him now?  What if, god forbid, he wants a relationship with Derek?  Derek doesn't know how to act around people he's had sex with, he's never stuck around long enough the morning after to find out.

Thankfully, they exchange no words after Derek shakes his head when Stiles asks if he wants him to return the favour, and they head back to the jeep, Stiles following after Derek at a noticeable distance, the air awkward between them. 

Stiles climbs into the back with Isaac, the other boy shifting over unconsciously, making room for him, while Derek sits in the passenger seat, pushing it back as far as it will go, falling into a restless sleep plagued with thoughts and memories.

***

Come morning, it turns out Stiles feels the exact same way about the blowjob as Derek does.  He doesn't even mention it, and it's like it never happened in the first place.  A huge part of Derek is relieved that he doesn't have to deal with any emotional bullshit or a massive fallout, but a small part, tiny in comparison, is hurt.  Not because he actually feels anything for Stiles, but because the boy doesn't even act like he came hard in Derek's mouth last night. 

Derek expected at least a wink, or an appreciative once over, but Stiles acts the same, and probably even more cold than usual.

Derek doesn't want to admit he broods the final fifty miles to Erica and Boyd, but he broods.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Erica and Boyd in the next chapter, along with some art of them that I've already made. Objectively, Erica is sooo pretty with sleeve tats.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check endnotes for chapter warning, but beware of spoilers.
> 
> It's been determined by friends that I need to get out more, so updates won't happen so often, but at least once a week from now on.

Stiles is freaking the fuck out. 

He just lost his virginity outside a cave, for fucks sake, to a man he's been lusting after for days.  

The extent of his past sexual experience _was_ limited to kisses between Heather and him, before Heather discovered she liked breasts more than dicks.  Something, Stiles was all too happy to help her discover, sneaking her into the not so secret, secret room in the archives where the mayor kept ancient, worn thin porn magazines.

It was in that same room, Stiles discovered men did it just as good for him as women.  Especially large, muscled men with thick beards, that could pin him right to a wall and just _ruin_ him.

God, he has such a hard on for Derek Hale, it's unbelievable, and he doesn't even like the guy.  Derek's a fucking asshole, just because he knows all this survival crap, doesn't mean he has to act like such an entitled fuck.  Every time Stiles even suggests something, Derek shoots it down like he's stupid for even having an opinion.

And yet, he's so fucking hot and exactly Stiles' type.   Stiles knows he would never be able to even dream of catching someone that hot.  So it was surprising, to say the least, when Derek just fell on his knees, out of nowhere, and happily sucked Stiles' dick.  And boy, was Derek ever happy to do it.  Stiles was surprised that he even lasted so long with the slurping sounds Derek was making not to mention the fucking groans _,_ sending vibrations down into his very soul.  His dick soul.

And now, Stiles doesn't even know the etiquette for this.  He offered to return the favour, but Derek denied him the pleasure.  So what the hell does he even want from Stiles?  Maybe he just likes sucking dicks?  Stiles doesn't know, and it makes him fidgety.  Like maybe one day, Derek will ask for something, Stiles will deny him, and then he'd say 'oh, but what about that time I had your cock in my mouth?'  And Stiles would have to do whatever Derek wants, no matter how much it sucks because he's indebted to him.

Stiles really doesn't know anything about this.  All he knows is that nothing comes free.

So when he sees Derek in the morning, he ignores him.  Maybe they could pretend this was all a bad, bad, dream.  It's not at all how Stiles planned on losing his virginity.

The jeep bumps, and Stiles is thrust out of his musings as they go over a stretch of road littered with gravel blown in by dust devils.  Derek's cursing in the seat beside him, as Stiles tries to regain some control of the vehicle, while Isaac whimpers in the back.  Stiles thinks they should have strapped down the water barrel as he hears their possessions jump around in the back, undoubtedly whacking into Isaac after every bump.

"Where are we headed after we meet with your crew?"  Stiles shouts over the crunching of gravel.

"Now?  You're asking me this now?" Derek raises a brow, and looks at him incredulously, as if questioning Stiles sanity, his fingers deathly tight around the assist handle. 

Stiles shrugs.  "Why not?"  He cringes as the suspension groans.

"Why not on the perfectly flat stretch of road only minutes before?"

"I didn't think of it then."

"Do you ever?"  Derek mumbles, but Stiles still catches it.

"Hey, fuck you!"  Stiles turns to Derek, scowling and pissed that Derek thinks he can just insult Stiles like it's nothing.  "You know absolutely nothing about me, so don't think-"

"Eyes on the road!  Eyes on the road!"  Isaac screeches, and Stiles whips his attention back to driving, just in time to prevent the jeep from cruising off and crashing into a fairly large Joshua tree by the roadside.

"Case and point."

"Fuck you."  Stiles spits through clenched teeth, cursing his dick and what it sees in Derek Hale, it sure as fuck isn't his sunny disposition. 

Maybe it's his abs?

Too bad abs don't make up for a shitty personality.  Stiles scowls as he drives on, dutifully ignoring Derek and his grumbling.

Nearing midday, they pass a large sandstone rock formation that looks the exact same as all the others on the wasteland, but Derek seems to recognize it, telling Stiles to turn off the road and drive a couple of miles in, where his crew should be waiting for him.

"Fuck.  It's hot as balls."  Stiles parks where Derek tells him, wiping away a trickle of sweat near his brow as he feels his clothing stick to him with all the moisture he's sweating.

"What do you expect it's nearly a hundred degrees."  Derek taps the thermostat screwed to the console, Stiles just send him a look.

"I know, I'm making an observation."

"Maybe you should keep those observations to yourself."   

"Why don't you make me?"

"Maybe I will."  Derek growls.

"Hey, guys, once you're done flirting maybe you should check out the two people pointing very dangerous looking guns at us."  Isaac says right in Stiles' ear as he pokes his head into the cabin, unease making his voice rise a few octaves.

Stiles whips away from a glaring Derek to see two very angry looking people with eyes trained on the jeep.  The man holds a small pistol, and the woman a shotgun.

"Holy shit."  Stiles squeaks as Derek snorts, laughing.  Stiles glares daggers at him.  "How the fuck are you not worried about this?"

Derek ignores him, and waves his hand at the people.  The woman narrows her eyes, before her disposition takes a complete 180 and she grins, lowering the weapon. 

Derek slips out of the jeep, and strides right up to her, before wrapping his arms tight around her waist, and lifting her up off the ground as she giggles, whirling her right around, before setting her down again, a huge smile gracing his face making his damned eyes crinkle.  Turning to the massive man beside her with muscles bigger than Stiles' face, Derek affords him the same treatment, but for a noticeably shorter length of time than the woman.  The man looks heavy.

Nervously, Stiles gets out of the jeep, as Isaac cracks open the back, sliding up behind Stiles.  It's wonderful to know he's using Stiles as a body shield.

"And who are these little tidbits?"  The woman asks.  The beautiful floral tattoos running down her arms, flexing, as she adjusts the grip on the shotgun.  "If I knew you like them skinny, Derek, all those birthday trips to Martin's brothel would've been much more pleasurable for you."  Stiles feels Isaac grab onto his hand, squeezing his fingers deadly tight.

"Stop it, Erica, you're scaring them."  The massive man nudges Erica gently.  "Look, they're quivering."

"Like rabbits to the slaughter."  Erica grins ferally, and Stiles wonders if they bestowed Derek's Feral Wolf moniker on the wrong person.

Derek sighs, rolling his eyes at Erica.  "The one with the buzz is a bounty, the other is here because if he wasn't I think Stiles would've tried to slit my throat and gone back for him."

"And you'd be right."  Stiles sticks his head high, squeezing Isaac's hand, pulling him along as he  approaches the three of them.  He thinks Derek's eyes linger on Isaac's and his joined hands, but he doesn't say anything.

"Spunky."  Erica hums, tapping a finger to her mouth.  "I think I recognize him from a poster."  She squints at Stiles, studying his face.

"Beacon Hills."  Derek answers.  "The Sheriff posted a bounty for his kid's safe return."

"Beacon Hills?"  Her eyebrows raise, nearly touching her hairline.  "That's nearly two thousand miles from the Colony.  What were you doing there, boy?"

"Well, it wasn't of my own volition."  Stiles frowns at the bad memory.

"The Alphas had the two of them locked up, twiddling their thumbs."  Derek explains.

"Weird."  Erica looks at Stiles, puzzling over his situation.  Stiles turns away from her curiosity, to the hot burly guy standing beside Erica, his arms crossed, looking bored.

"Let me guess.  You're called the Bull?"  Stiles glances at the beautiful gold ring piercing the man's septum.

He fixes his eyes on Stiles, staring blankly, unamused.

"You're an asshole."  Erica flicks Stiles' ear.

"I know."  Stiles whines, clutching the stinging flesh.  "It's a thing."

"I'm Boyd."  The man rolls his eyes, and Stiles grins.

"Cool-"

"And if you call me a bull again, I'll rip your arms out of your sockets and show you just how much of a bull I can be."  Boyd says casually, like he threatens people with death on a daily basis.

Stiles mouth drops open as he squeaks.  "That's cool."    

Boyd nods walking away, and Erica smirks at Stiles, winking before following after Boyd to what looks like a small adobe brick hut hidden away, tucked in the side of the cliffs.

"Your friends are really chill."  He says to Derek, who just snorts at him.

 

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/118256901342/art-for-chapter-five-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

***

"So what the plan?"  Stiles asks around a mouthful of roasted yucca, pieces flying everywhere as he talks.  Derek looks at him, disgusted, as the man demurely eats his food like he's a fucking lady or something, and the world hadn't gone to shit some three hundred years previously.

"We need to take a detour, since _somebody_ didn't manage to pick up the things we need in the Colony."  Erica sends Derek a look, and he just raises his brow at her.

"You try trading for supplies when a couple of enforcers decide to collect a bounty on your sorry ass."  Derek pokes his finger in Erica direction.

"I would."  She drawls,  "but oh wait, my gorgeous ass doesn't have a bounty since I don't have the tendency to destroy property when I go after skips."  Stiles watches enraptured as they trade blows back and forth, like they do it all the time.  He didn't even know Derek could talk this much, he's said more words in the past hour than in the last few days since Stiles met him.

"A detour to where?"  Isaac interrupts, worried, and Erica sighs.

"The Martin trading post.  We need to stock up on ammunition, since we're dangerously low on everything but .44 now."

"Will we really need it, though?  It's not like we've come across any trouble so far."  Isaac reasons.

"We were lucky."  Derek spears his fruit on his knife, eating it delicately off the sharp blade.  "I'm actually half surprised we're not lying dead in a ditch somewhere."

Stiles snorts.  "That's reassuring."

Derek turns his hazel eyes on Stiles, staring at him disconcertedly as he eats.  "We'll get you home, and then we'll get our reward, so don't worry."

Stiles snorts.  "I can't do anything but worry.  It's in my nature."

Derek smirks at Stiles in a way that _almost_ seems friendly and his eyes crinkled in amusement, but just as sudden, he drops his gaze, a scowl overcoming his features.  Stiles looks away and catches Erica's eye.  She quirks a brow at him, calculative, just like she knows exactly what's going on between the two of them.  Stiles blushes and shoves a spoonful of barley in his mouth before he can say anything incriminating.

The adobe hut is absolutely tiny.  It has no furniture and basically nothing but a door.  Once again, Stiles finds himself curled tightly around the lightly snoring Isaac, unable to sleep. 

Getting up, he wanders outside into the freezing night to take a piss. 

As he finishes, he spots Derek lying on the roof of the camaro.  Watching the man's profile for a few seconds; face turned up into the night sky, watching the stars, Stiles zips up, and grabs onto some dried grasses, wiping off his hands.  Casting one last look in Derek's direction he wanders back inside. 

Stiles thinks he sees Derek's turn towards him, an unreadable expression taking over his alluring features, but it must've just be the dark night and his imagination playing tricks on him.

***

"Dude, pass me the soap."  Stiles tells Isaac as his friend looks through their bags for the mangled copy of War and Peace he got off a trader months ago.  Isaac passes the greyish bar and Stiles wanders far away from the packing group, over to the roughly made shower hooked up to a small spring leaking out of the rock.  Stripping, Stiles pulls on the rusting chain, getting the trickle of water flowing. 

The pressure is awful, and the water runs freezing, but Stiles hasn't had a real shower since he was taken from Beacon Hills months ago, so he's happy regardless. 

Knowing no one will come to disturb him anytime soon, he jacks off like he hasn't for a few days, since he hasn't.  The thing about traveling is it leaves no room for privacy, or time for self pleasure.  Stiles thinks Derek's mouth getting him off doesn't count since the admittedly amazing blow job did nothing but cause him to stress after the fact. 

And Stiles really needs to rewind.

He pulls his clothes over wet skin, and walks the short distance back to the cars, a skip in his step, his release flowing down the rock, soaking into the dusty earth.  He was the last to shower so when he rounds the corner he sees Derek leaning against the side of the jeep, annoyed, picking at his nails, his hair still slightly wet.

"Where's Isaac."  Stiles looks inside the back, but Isaac isn't there in his usual spot beside the water barrel.  Instead, the camaro's water barrel has taken his place.

"He's riding with Erica and Boyd, there's more passenger room."

Stiles shrugs and opens the driver's door.  "They leave already?"  Derek nods at his question and climbs into the jeep.  "They're scouting ahead."

Stiles pulls the jeep into drive, and Derek tells him where to go.  They're not going back to the same highway, but driving a few miles into the wasteland to reach another one running parallel.  When Stiles asks him why, Derek taps his finger against the console.

"The main highway has a lot of daytime raiders from here on, since there are overhanging cliffs up ahead."  Stiles nods, and follows along a path free of sagebrush and boulders.

Half an hour later, Stiles spots the awaiting camaro, and pulls up beside it.  Hopping out of the jeep, he joins Isaac as he leans in the shade of a series of massive cliffs, speaking to Erica while Boyd looks on, bored.

"How do you guys usually prove you've killed someone to collect the bounty?"  Isaac asks as Stiles walks in on their conversation, Erica smirking like the she devil she is.

"Usually the posters provide identifying features along with the sketch, like a oddly shaped ear, a birthmark, or even jewelry.  We bring those to collect."

Stiles watches with amusement as Isaac mouths, "an ear?" with a look of growing horror, and Stiles snorts.  As the son of a Sheriff, he knows that law enforcement usually won't accept anything but the actual person: dead or alive.  It's easy enough to cut off an ear and have the skip declared officially dead, just as it's easy enough to offer a bounty hunter a bribe on top of the bounty.

Erica turns to Derek as he pulls up beside Stiles.

"I took a peek around and it looks clear."  She says.  "I think a dust devil just ran through the canyon, so if anyone's there they must be hiding away now."

"Good."

"Good?"  Stiles pipes up, frowning.  "I thought you said we had to avoid cliffs, now you're saying we need to go through them."

"This stretch is shorter than the one on the road."  Erica reassures him.  "Only the weakest raiders, chased away by those on the main highway, cover this area, and we can take them if they show."

"But you guys said you're low on ammo."  Stiles points out, his fingers fidgeting nervously.  He doesn't want to die because they don't have enough firepower.

"But they don't know that, all they'll see are the many guns in out collection."  Erica folds her arms.  "Come on, trust us, we'll be fine."

"Haha, trust."  Stiles says sarcastically, but walks back to the jeep anyway, pulling into the lead, while the camaro follows afterwards.

"Where am I going?"  Stiles questions Derek who points to a small opening he would have never noticed on his own, it's a bit smaller than the width of two cars, so Stiles has to be extra careful navigating through it.

"Don't clip the walls, go slow, and for heaven's sake don't rev the engine."  Derek warns, and Stiles rolls his eyes.  He knows how to maneuver the jeep like it's another appendage attached to him.  He's been driving it since before he could look over the steering wheel, and had to sit on an upside down basket just so he could see where he was going.

"How long is it to the end?"  Stiles asks as he carefully drives through the narrow gap in the rock, the walls around are so high, he can't even see the sun anymore.  It's much cooler in the canyon, and with the jeep's windows down, he can feel a cool breeze enter and brush through his hair, chilling the nervous sweat trickling down his face.

"About a mile."  Derek says, and Stiles hears the slap of a magazine being loaded into a gun.

"Are you really going to need that?"  Stiles asks, concerned, as the snap of the slide release echoes in the silence of the jeep.

"Just in case."  Derek says, rolling down his dusty window, keeping a sharp eye out.  "Concentrate on driving, don't worry."

"Don't worry, he says."  Stiles grumbles as his fingers tighten on the wheel, nearing a fork in the road.

"Go right."  Derek says, and Stiles complies.

"How much further?"  It's dark in the canyon, so Stiles doesn't know how Derek manages to keep an eye out for raiders if Stiles can barely make out the road in front of him.

"Not far."  Derek says, and Stiles checks the rearview mirror to see the camaro creeping steadily after them.

"Give me a number, Derek."  Stiles says and Derek grunts.

"About a hundred yards, there's a turn up ahead."

"Okay."  Stiles says just as he turns the corner and emerges out into bright sunlight.  Blinking away the spots in his eyes, he settles in the seat, and his heartbeat slows down from where it was thumping like he was about to have a heart attack.

"Phew, that wasn't so bad, right Sour Wolf?"  Derek just sends him a bitch please expression, before his gaze turns to Stiles' driver side window, and his hazel eyes widen substantially. 

"Get down!"  Derek shouts, pushing down at Stiles' head before ducking himself.  Stiles' forehead clips the edge of the steering wheel in the process, just as shots ring out, thudding into the driver's side of the jeep, shattering his mirror with a loud crash.  The jeep swerves as Stiles startles, and crashes into something with a muted crunch.  It sounds like dried vegetation, but when Stiles revs the engine, the jeep doesn't move an inch.

"Stiles, fuck!  Are you alright?  Are you hurt?"  Derek asks, ducked down in his seat.

"I'm fine, I'm fine."  Stiles pushes away Derek's fingers as they grip at his shoulder, checking for injury.  "Just bruised."  He swipes at his forehead, looking for blood, strung out with fear, his fingers shaking.

"Fuck."  Derek exclaims, his wide eyed gaze holding Stiles' own.  "They were hiding on a outcropping next to the exit."

"How many?"  Stiles questions voice shrill, his fingers digging into his palms in sheer terror.

"About three from what I saw, but there could be more."  Derek thumps his hand on his knee in frustration.  "I should've had you floor it the moment we got out of the canyon."

"What's going to happen now?"  Stiles' voice quavers.

"Whatever you do, don't aggravate them."  Derek barely has time to warn Stiles, just as both their doors are yanked open, and he's pulled out of the jeep by the scruff of his neck. 

Stiles is thrown onto the dusty red dirt, sprawling, a cloud of rusty red rising up into his face making his eyes water, and his palms scratch at the ground, opening up the days old scabs from the wounds he sustained at the Colony.  Looking up, he spots Isaac standing next the Erica and Boyd a few yards away, men armed with rifles situated nearby, the guns pointed at their feet in case they run.

Someone grabs at Stiles' neck again, and he's pulled to his feet, scrambling and stumbling across the dusty earth as he's tugged violently towards the line up, he can already feel a bruise developing where fingers dig into the sensitive skin of his neck, and he winces when he feels the scrape of nails drawing blood.  Isaac grabs at his hand, as he's pushed beside his friend, hands clammy and cold.

Stiles' eye follows the man who grabbed him as walks up to another with a shaved head, and nearly pisses himself when the man turns to face him.  The man's missing his nose.  Years old scar tissue healed over two slits in his face like a snake, his posture coiled to strike.

On the wasteland, a man gets his nose sliced off for only one reason: as a way to warn others that he's a murderer and thief.  This guy is probably a wanted man with a bounty on his head, a man who cares nothing for human life, so long as he gains riches and spoils. 

If this man is considered a weakling for stalking this small canyon, Stiles hates to imagine the kind of raiders haunting the cliffs by the main highway.

"What do we have here?"  Snake Face sneers as he walks along the line up.  Isaac grips his hand tighter.  "Some lost folk wandering through my territory?"

Stiles bites his lip at the retort on his tongue.  The wasteland is no man's land.  No one owns it, since there's no such thing as territory anymore. 

Snake Face stops in front of Erica and runs his disgusting gaze up and down her body, before stopping on her beautiful tattoos, harrumphing and dismissing her.  "This one's skin is ruined."  Stiles can see Erica's mouth form a snarl before Boyd grabs her hand and she reluctantly screws her expression back to empty.

Working down the line, he passes right by Derek and Boyd, ignoring them and stopping right in front of him.  Tapping his desiccated lips with a dirty finger, Snake Face makes a gesture and someone kicks at the back of Stiles' knees and he falls to the ground, sprawling out on all fours, hissing as even more dirt works its way into his open scabs.

Stiles curls up in fetal position on the dusty earth, cradling his aching hands to his chest, scared and tired and fucking pissed as shit.  Snake Face bends and grabs him by his shirt, roughly pulling him to his knees and Stiles feels someone grab his hands, wrenching them behind his back as they zip tie his arms together, doing the same to the others in the line.  Stiles sees Derek snap his teeth at the man tying his arms, satisfactorily watching the skinnier man step back in fear.  Feral Wolf indeed.

Snake Face steps right in front of him, blocking his view of the others, casting a heavy, oppressive shadow upon him.  "We've got some quality meat here."  The man smiles, showing rotting brown teeth, and Stiles throws up a little in his mouth, as his dry fingers grasp Stiles' chin, smearing dirt on his skin.  "Some real pretty meat."  Snake Face drawls and Stiles hears Derek snarl loudly.

"Oh, is this one yours?"  Snake Face looks over his shoulder at Derek.  "He does have a real pretty mouth on him."  The man's callused finger swipes over Stiles' lips slowly, leaving a disgusting dustiness behind.  "I'm sure to get a nice price for him in the brothels."  Stiles gulps as Snake Face's attention focuses back in on him, the man's eyes blowing in lust.  "But before that, I think I should taste the merchandise."

Stiles' eyes widen in horror as the man quickly drops his chin, fumbling at his fly, tugging down the zipper.  Grabbing his cock, he pulls it out of his pants, hips thrusting into his hand as he stares unabashedly down at Stiles kneeling in front of him.

Snake Face drops his other hand out and a short-barreled revolver is placed in it within a moment.  The man grins brutally at Stiles, before swinging the revolver around, and placing it smack in the middle of Stiles' forehead, the cold steel sending shivers down his spine.

"Open your mouth."

Stiles doesn't.

And the man pistol whips him.  Stiles' head snaps to the side, as he feels his nose crack, breaking.  Sobbing in pain, Stiles refuses to let loose the scream of agony bubbling up from his throat, lest the man shoves his dick in his mouth when he does.  His eyes well up with tears, and the world blurs as blood runs down his nose.  Stiles feels its sticky warmth coat his lips, remaining resolutely shut.

Snake Face sneers at him.  "Stubborn."  He says, and once again the gun's barrel digs into Stiles' forehead.  "One more chance?"  He asks as Stiles screws his eyes shut, trembling in terror.

"Fine."  And the pressure of cool metal abruptly leaves his forehead.  Stiles cracks open an eye, terrified, watching as the man turns away from Stiles.  He's about to breathe a sigh of relief, but Snake Face beats him to it, remarking on a long drawn out sigh,  "Maybe your cherubic friend will be more cooperative."  He hears a thump and Isaac's feet are kicked out from under him as he's also brought to his knees.

Stiles' eyes bug out, and he yells in desperation, calling the man back to him, "No!  I'll do it, please don't hurt him."  Stiles' voice cracks on the last word.

Snake Face, turns back to him, grinning disgustingly.  "You'll do what?"  He asks sarcastically.

Stiles says nothing, he just drops his mouth open, closing his eyes in surrender.  Belatedly, he hears Isaac screaming for him, before a wet thud sounds and Isaac whimpers in pain.

"No, I want to hear you say it."  Snake Face sneers and Stiles knows this isn't about the man's pleasure, this is all humiliation.  This is a man that gets off on degrading others in an effort to feel more powerful, to be in control.

Stiles shudders before mumbling.  "I'll suck your cock."  _And I'll bite it off too, regardless if you pull the fucking trigger afterwards._ At least he'll have the satisfaction knowing this man will never hurt anyone again.  Stiles doubts Snake Face will be able to get adequate medical attention before he bleeds out.  Or maybe it'll distract the rest of the crew enough so the others could overpower them.

"Look at that, already such a good little whore."  The man's crew sniggers and Stiles feels sick, knowing he's probably going to die soon.  Self sacrifice was never really his thing, but oh well.

The man moves closer, and grabs his cock, guiding it towards Stiles' mouth.  Suddenly, a shot rings out, and blood splatters on Stiles' face as Snake Face's head explodes in a shower of blood and god knows what, raining down upon Stiles like a fucking sandstorm. 

But then, Stiles feels a burst of excruciating pain in his shoulder as Snake Face's hand jerks, his finger pulling the trigger in an involuntary muscle reaction, shooting down into the fleshy meat around Stiles' clavicle.  He screams utter agony as the clearing erupts in violence.

Shots ring out, reverberating through his head like an orchestra, but his shoulder is on fire, and it just doesn't end.  It's about a hundred times worse than the time Stiles got appendicitis, and before he knows it, he's falling into the dust. 

Hearing voices call out his name, Stiles just can't concentrate on them, all he feels is _pain, pain, pain_ , and nothing put the fucking _pain_ , it hurts so goddamn bad and he wants it to end already. 

It feels like he's drowning in water.  The front of his shirt is wet, and Stiles dully realizes it must be the blood pouring out of him from the gunshot wound.  He blinks his eyes blearily of tears, staring into what remains of the face of the man who shot him as he lies dead, only a foot away from Stiles suffocating in the dirt.  It's an unrecognizable, bloody, mangled mess, and Stiles doesn't want it to be the last thing he sees when he dies. 

He feels the contents of his stomach up heave, and he spills his lunch, puking his guts out, the pain and sight of destroyed flesh, destroying him, before the light starts to fade around the edges and he blacks out.  All thoughts and sights quickly fading from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some bad touches in this chapter, so take that into consideration, it doesn't get the chance to escalate to explicit non con, but there's the possibility it could've happened.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, a 10k update... Biggest one so far...
> 
> There might not be any art in the next chapter since I won't have access to Photoshop or my scanner for the next week, so you get two pieces this week, enjoy!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter are in the endnotes.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck."  Isaac mutters like a mantra, and he keeps glancing in the rearview mirror at Stiles instead of keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

"Isaac."  Derek growls through clenched teeth as he presses his balled up shirt down hard on the wound sluggishly leaking blood out of Stiles.  "Shut it, and drive."

 _Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck._    Derek gnaws at his lip, worrying away at Stiles, wiping away the buildup of sticky sweat on the boy's forehead while he steadily bleeds out in the back of his Jeep.  Erica and Boyd are driving the Camaro in front of them, and all Isaac has to do is follow, but he doesn't know the vehicle as well as Stiles.  Even on the relatively smooth road, Isaac just so happens to drive over all the existing potholes.  A horrible bump makes Derek's hands jump, hitting Stiles' shoulder, and he was conscious Stiles would be screaming in righteous agony.

As it is, Derek's hands are covered in blood up to the elbow, and he's fucking terrified because that's a lot of blood, and there's only so much blood in one human.  Even though the Martin trading post has a doctor who can help Stiles, she's unlikely to have the right kind of blood just lying about, they have to get there fast enough so Stiles doesn't lose an irreparable amount of the stuff.

"Boyd's slowing down."  Isaac calls from the front, and Derek pokes his head up, looking out the window, recognizing the landscape.

"We'll be there in a few minutes.  Drive slowly and don't panic."  He instructs Isaac, and watches at Stiles' head rolls to the side, still unconscious.  Checking his pulse, Derek finds it steadily weakening, and he swears under his breath, putting more pressure on Stiles' shoulder.

The fucker he shot in the head only had a small caliber gun.  Pathetic from far away, but effective from close range.  He'd shot Stiles from as close range as possible, and his skin even has burns from where the muzzle flash singed him.

Originally, Derek was going to wait for the man with no nose to put the gun away since it was damn risky to shoot him while he pointed a loaded revolver at Stiles' forehead.  If he missed, well, Stiles would suffer for it.  But Derek couldn't help himself when he caught a glimpse of Stiles' expression.  The boy appeared resolutely determined, like he would bite the fucker's dick off the moment he stuck it in his mouth, and then it wouldn't end well for Stiles regardless.

Derek had quickly crouched and slapped his wrists against his tailbone, breaking the zip tie with a silent snap, grabbing his Desert Eagle from a nearby man, punching him, and knocking another out before they could react.  In that time, Boyd and Erica had both broke their zips and incapacitated their captors, grabbed guns, waiting for Derek.  And that's when Derek took his shot.  He knew Stiles would appreciate it.

With the loud discharge of the Desert Eagle, three other men came charging out at them, distracting Derek's attention away from Stiles, but still he heard the sound of the revolver firing, and Isaac's loud scream, and he knew in his gut that the man managed to shoot Stiles before he died.

And if that made him fight a little bloodier, a little more violent than necessary, well, no one needs to know that.

With all the raiders laid on bloody heaps on the ground, he had found Isaac crouched at Stiles' side, hands still zip tied around his back as he watched his friend bleed out on the ground, unable to do anything.  Derek had gulped when he saw Stiles' blood mix into the rusty red dirt, almost blending in, like Stiles' death would suit the aesthetic of the wasteland.

Stiles had been unconscious when Derek took off his shirt, balling it up on his wound as Derek watched Erica slice through Isaac's restraints.  Picking Stiles up, he deposited him in the back of the Jeep, while Isaac took the wheel, carefully backing out of the sagebrush Stiles managed to crash into.

And now they're here, almost twenty minutes later, driving at a snail's pace so the watch guards won't think they're raiders and shoot out their wheels on sight.  It frustrates Derek, because every minute that goes by is a minute when Stiles turns slightly more pale, slightly closer to death.

The Jeep rolls to a halt.

"Boyd's stopped driving."  Isaac informs him.

"He's waiting for the all clear from the guards."  It should come soon, the Camaro's on the list of vehicles allowed entry, even if the Jeep isn't.

"Nothing's happening."

"Wait for it."  Derek breathes, as he tears strips of cloth to wrap Stiles' wound in preparation to move him.

"Erica's getting out."

"Wait.  What?"  That's never happened before, they've always let them in, no questions asked.

"Someone's behind the gate, I think they're pointing a gun at her, but she's talking to them."

"Fuck."  Derek exhales.  "Switch with me."  He tells Isaac, wiping his hands of dried blood as best as he can, climbing into the front of the car while Isaac takes his former position at Stiles' side, wrapping the bandage around the boy's shoulder.  "Keep it fucking tight."  Derek instructs before opening the driver's side door, and getting out of the cool shade of the Jeep's interior into the full afternoon sun, raising his arms above his head, showing he's unarmed, even with the gun strapped to his thigh.

"What's going on?"  He asks Erica, looking over the guard he doesn't recognize as he points an unwavering rifle at the both of them.

"Fucker's not letting us in."  Erica whispers.

"You explained the situation?"  Derek asks and she nods.

"He said the Camaro is a recognized vehicle, but since the Jeep isn't, he can't let us inside."  Derek scowls at her words, turning to the guard.

"We have a teenager in need of medical assistance.  Go call on Lydia, she'll tell you Derek Hale is approved for entry."

"Sorry, but I'm not leaving my post."  The guard says unwavering.  "I'll inform her when we switch watches in an hour."

"Stiles will die by then."  Erica hisses at the guard, but he just shrugs.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Derek growls.

"Cam?"  Derek whips around at Isaac's voice.

"What the hell are you doing?"  Derek barks at Isaac's stupidity, pushing past him.  "You can't leave him alone, he'll bleed out."

"Boyd's with him."  Isaac says, distracted, as he stares at the guard whose rifle is now pointed into the dust, bearing a slack look of shock on his face.

"Isaac."  The guard whispers.  "You're alive."

"You two know each other?"  Erica asks, and Isaac makes an affirmative noise.

"He's my brother."  The guard smiles at Isaac, and Derek feels like ripping his throat out.

"This is not the time for touching family reunions, Isaac."  Derek reminds him that his other brother is dying while he makes happy noises at the man who basically said he would gladly let Stiles bleed out.

"Shit, right."  Isaac's eyes widen in mortification.  "Cam, you have to let us in, the boy that's hurt, he saved my life.  Camden, please."

Camden appears conflicted, but is saved a response when Lydia's second comes jogging out from one of the many openings into the stone cliffs that house the trading post.

"Aiden."  Derek calls out, identifying the twin by the prosthetic arm he's sporting.

Aiden ignores them, speaking to Isaac's brother instead.  "It's okay, they're okay."  Camden nods, before catching Isaac's eye, moving to the gate crank, and winding it.

"Derek."  Aiden sneers over the squeaking of the ascending gate.

"How's business?"  Derek snidely asks Lydia's second.

"Oh you know."  Aiden scratches his nose with his prosthetic's finger, always eager to show off the revolutionary technology Lydia comes up with.  Derek knows, and should he ever happen to lose a limb he'll be sure to come to Lydia and have her connect his nerve endings to the climate controlled polymer she developed.  "Busy."  Aiden finishes with a smirk.

"Good."  Derek hurries back to the Jeep, briefly looking in the back, and catching Boyd's eye where he's pressing his full body weight down onto Stiles' shoulder.  Derek hates to admit Stiles is looking even more pale than before. 

He barely waits for Isaac to enter the cab after him, before gunning the gas and driving into the huge compound surrounded by massive fields of back, water filled tubes providing solar power to Lydia's trading post.  He directs the Jeep right to medical, bypassing headquarters. 

Lydia can wait.

***

"Dr. Ito!"  Derek calls, bursting through the doors of the infirmary, a weakened and blood drained Stiles cradled in his arms.  Erica, Boyd, and Isaac trailing in after him.  The middle aged doctor looks up in shock at the messy group, but jumps into action when she sees the blood soaked rags wrapped around Stiles' shoulder.

"How long since he was shot?"  She asks, directing Derek to one of the many free cots in the room, before calmly walking over to her supply cabinet.

"A little over half an hour."  Derek gently places Stiles down on the cot, careful not to jostle his shoulder too much.

"Clean shot?"  Dr. Ito returns with a pitcher, sewing supplies, and more clean bandages, placing it beside one of her many creepy garden gnome statues on the bedside table.

"Right through his shoulder, I found the bullet."  Derek says, pulling the twisted slug out of his jacket.  It was buried in the dirt beside Stiles.  "No pieces broke off.  But there'll be dirt in the wound, he fell down after he was shot."

Dr. Ito clicks her tongue, before looking up at Derek, holding his gaze.  "I can't guarantee anything regarding infections, do you still want me to-"

"Yes."  Derek interrupts.  "I'll pay, regardless."  

She nods breaking their gaze, and starts peeling the rags off of Stiles, working quickly and efficiently.  "Did you speak to Miss Martin?"  Dr. Ito asks, not looking up at him, focused intently on her work.

"No."  Derek shakes his head.

"Then go, when you come back he should be fine."  She points at Isaac who stands at attention, eyes wide like a puppy.  "This one will help me."  Derek nods, and takes one last lingering look at Stiles; from the blood splattered over his face, to the pale, almost translucent skin of his torso, before turning on his heel and marching out of the infirmary with Erica and Boyd.

Erica takes his hand, squeezing it, providing the comfort he need without unnecessary words.  "Go talk to Lydia, we'll run the errands."

"Will you two be alright getting the ammunition?"  Derek asks, hurrying through the corridors, pushing past people.

Erica rolls her eyes, hurrying after him, Boyd holding her hand.  "This isn't our first rodeo, I'm sure we'll manage."

Derek quirks his lips.  "Make sure you get a discount, Danny still owes us for the time we took care of the raiders hijacking his shipments."

Erica salutes.  "Aye, boss man." 

"Get out of here."  He jokes, and the couple breaks away from Derek, taking a separate path down to the market. 

Maybe next time he sees Erica, she'll have another tattoo decorating her skin.  She always did take badly to people calling her body modifications ugly.  But then again she always hated people commodifying her.  Derek touches the pocket of his jacket where the rings lie, wondering just how he's going to give them to Erica and Boyd without them calling him an idiot for not trading the gold away for supplies.

If Stiles survives, they'll have enough gold to live on without collecting a bounty for years.  _If_ he lives.  Derek sighs, the money isn't his only cause for worry.  He admires Stiles.  When the raider pointed his gun at the boy, he barely even flinched.  He was more concerned about Isaac, about his friend, _his family_ , than his own safety.  It's something Derek can understand.

He makes his way to Lydia's offices, nodding his head, as traders call out greetings.  He provides a lot of business to these men and women, and it's why he's usually always so welcome in this post.  Except for today. 

Knocking on Lydia's door, he turns the handle when she calls out "Come in."

Derek's eyes narrow when he pushes opens the heavy steel door, spotting Camden sitting in the chair across from Lydia's desk.  Now that Derek knows of their familial relation, he can really see Isaac in the man.  From their shared heavily lidded eyes, to curly hair, Camden just looks like an older, rougher version of Isaac. 

If Stiles dies, Derek doesn't think he'll ever be able to see Camden as anything but the man who allowed it to happen.

"You've met Camden, I presume."  Lydia says, not looking up at him, while she makes some notes into a ledger. Derek notices Camden's hand resting on Lydia's wrist, a hand he withdraws when he sees Derek looking.

"Unfortunately."   And Camden raises his brow at that, before getting up from his seat.

"I'm going to find Isaac."  He addresses Lydia.

"He's in the infirmary."  Derek says, short and to the point.  "Where he's busy making sure his best friend doesn't die."  Camden flinches, and Derek smirks.  Good.

The man just nods, before walking around Derek, closing the door with a snap behind him.

"He was just doing his job."  Lydia gestures towards the chair Camden just vacated, and Derek collapses into it.

"He should have let us in, we're on the list."

"The Camaro is, not the other car, especially not with raider spikes welded to the roof.  Come on, Derek, what was he supposed to think?"

"You were supposed to know that I would set fire to Laura's car before raiders took it from me."

"So melodramatic."  Lydia sighs, before demurely placing her pen down on his desk, and folding her hands over the ledger.  "Who's the boy?"  She questions, no nonsense.

"Which one?"

"The one with a hole in his shoulder."

Derek winces.  "A bounty."

"So much effort for a mere bounty.  Don't lie, who is he really?"

"A bounty who's not worth anything dead."

She frowns.  "Should I be worried that he's loose in my post without an armed guard?"

"Stiles is not dangerous."  Derek explains.  "He was taken from his home, but his father is willing to pay a premium to get him back."

Lydia raises a brow.  "That's not the kind of job you usually take."  Derek knows.  He's usually all about the blood and danger of capturing armed raiders, collecting bounties from their ranks, and then selling off their goods.  Escorting is not his style.

"I stumbled upon him in the Colony, it was a coincidence, so I took the opportunity."

Lydia's eyes widen.  "What were you doing in that godforsaken place?"

Derek shrugged.  "Needed to restock on supplies after we caught a skip, it was closer than your post."

Lydia shifts in her chair, the metal creaking.  "You do know it was built upon cinnabar deposits, right?  There's mercury in the water."

Derek leans back in his seat, surprised.  "No wonder everyone was insane."  He mutters, thinking about Stiles and Isaac living there for months, drinking the contaminated water.  "Will Stiles be fine?  He was living there a few months."

Lydia hums.  "He should be, but you can have Satomi run some blood tests.  She's sure to charge you through your ass for it though."

Derek snorts.  "How else would Dr. Ito be able to afford her insane obsession with those damned gnomes?"  Derek swears the ancient bearded statues stare right into his soul every time he's in the infirmary. 

Derek really doesn't understand the inane things people used to make before the water and oil crisis became top priority.  Once, a trader tried to convince him to buy an antique clothes iron; like people used to worry about the wrinkles in their clothing, instead of where their next meal would come from.  It baffles him.

Lydia laughs, smiling.  "Those things are a bit creepy."

"What an understatement."  Once, he remembers coming down with a horrid case of food poisoning, and being delirious for days while a damned gnome sat on the bedside table staring at him.  Derek had thought it was a person and tried to talk to it with no avail.  "I'll get the tests done for the three of us.  I don't think I've been drinking the water long enough for it to affect me, but just in case."

"You seem awfully invested in the boy, Derek."  Lydia smirks and Derek shrugs.

"He's good money."

"He won't start showing signs of mercury poisoning until later in life, you don't _have_ to pay for those tests, and yet-"

"Are we done?"  Derek interrupts.

Lydia studies him with that knowing gaze of hers.  "I want to talk to the two boys after Stiles' surgery."

Derek rubs his head, frustrated.  "Fine."

"And I want compensation, for you know, the danger of bringing prisoners from the Colony down upon my humble trading post."  She taps a long finger against her chin.  "I'm thinking ten percent of the boy's reward."

Derek snorts.  "Five and no more."

"Fine, now go check up on _your_ boy."

***

"How is he?"  He asks Dr. Ito as she washes her hands of blood, making sure to carefully clean under her nails.  Her strict attention to hygiene is the main reason he always comes to her whenever he's sick or injured.  He's seen doctors sew up people with rusted needles, only to wonder why their patients die from sepsis instead of blood loss.   

"He's stable for now, and hasn't developed an infection yet.  I will monitor his temperature in case it rises, but I cleaned his wound the best I can, and stitched it up.  He can leave with your group in two weeks, but the wound should take months to heal thoroughly.  It will have to be cleaned every few hours."  She pauses her motions, looking at Derek.  "I'd advise you to stay here for at least a month.  Going on the road with a seventeen year old boy injured that badly is just begging for a disaster."

Derek's already shaking his head.  "Not an option.  We can stay for two weeks, but not a month."  They'll run out of money at that rate, they need Stiles' bounty.

Dr. Ito purses her lips, cleaning her hands with more aggression.  "Fine.  Undo my hard work."  She mutters, and Derek tries not to snort.  "What do I care?  So long as I'm paid in full."  She makes sure Derek hears that.

"You'll get your gold.  But I need you to take some blood tests."  She perks at that, anything involving the old creaking machinery locked away tight in the back involves Derek paying though his ass.

"What am I testing for?"

"Mercury."  Derek says and she nods.

"Isaac mentioned he comes from the Colony."  She scoffs.  "Bunch of uncivilized shits, thinking they can live on a contaminated aquifer.  Idiots."

Derek ignores her ranting.  "I need three tests done: Stiles', Isaac's, and mine."

"Careful, Hale, don't go spending money you haven't earned yet."

Derek rolls his eyes, brushing off her warning.  "Can you do them or not?"

"Sit down boy."  She walks over to her padlocked cabinet, and Derek looks over at Stiles sleeping on the bed.  It looks so unnatural, seeing the boy asleep on his back, Derek's gotten so used to him wrapped around Isaac, his face tucked into Isaac's neck, sleeping on his stomach.  Stiles looks so dead like this; arms resting on top on the blanket, dressed in a blue hospital gown, an IV delivering pain meds and necessary vitamins into his bloodstream.

Isaac's off with Camden, bonding over whatever siblings do.  He remembers Laura, and how they used to bond, driving the Camaro out on the highway, windows down, music blasting, but those thoughts quickly turn sour.  Derek thinks of how he clutched her still, pale corpse while Peter stood off to the side, mumbling nonsense about saving humanity from Laura's genes, or whatever the fuck those assholes in that damned dead-end trading post told his uncle.  He tries not to think about it, but Stiles lying still like Laura once did, dredges up horrid memories.

He turns his attention back to Dr. Ito as she comes back with a needle and rubber band.  "Jacket off, you know the drill, Hale."  Derek rolls his eyes, but complies as Dr. Ito wraps the band tight around his arm, quickly finding a vein, and pulling blood out fast and efficiently.

"Finally."  He jokes, as she pulls the needle out of him unamused, capping it off, before handing him a small bandage.

"Now get out of here, before you disturb my patient, and send that troublesome Isaac over so I can take his blood.  You'll have to wait a day before I can test Stiles, he's already lost too much plasma, I have to wait until it regenerates."

"That fine."  Derek pushes to his feet, casting one last look at Stiles' bed before wandering down to the market levels, the corridors becoming more and more crowded the closer he gets.

He finds Erica and Boyd standing off to the side, glaring at a young, black haired man as he loads inventory onto the shelves of his small shop.

"How'd it go?"  He asks Boyd, as Erica seems intent on glaring daggers into the back of Danny's skull.

"Horribly."  Boyd says.  "He won't give us a discount, _and_ he raised his prices."

"Well, fuck."  Derek grumbles.

"We can takes him."  Erica cracks her knuckles, but Derek grabs her hand, stopping her motions.

"I'll take care of this."  He lets go, walking over to the shop, making sure to swing his hips enticingly.  "Danny."  He greets, words sugary sweet.  Derek does not want to pay full price for ammo.

Danny smirks, looking up with a flirty smile on his face, but his eyes narrow and the smile drops when he recognizes Derek.  "No, Derek.  I like you, and frankly you give amazing blowjobs, but fuck no.  I'm already losing income from a _new_ group of raiders taking my shit before it comes in."

"You'd be losing more if it wasn't for us."  Derek points his finger, prodding and glaring at the younger man.

"And I'm eternally thankful."  Danny pushes Derek's hand away.  "If you want to fuck I'm down for it, but I'm not lowering my prices."

"What if we took care of your new problem?"  Derek offers and Danny pauses his motions, interested.

"Twenty percent off, until the next group of raiders starts fucking with me."

"Fifty, and you'll throw in some free ammo now so we're armed to take care of them."

Danny thinks over Derek's offer before saying.  "Forty, and I'll give you a few clips."

"Deal."  He shakes the trader's hand.

"And the fuck?"  Danny asks, his smile flirty again.

"Maybe next time when Ethan isn't glaring daggers at me."  Derek points to Aiden's twin, over Danny's shoulder.  Danny whips around so fast he looks like he sprains something.

"Oh shit."

***

Derek finds Isaac in the guard barracks, sitting beside Camden on a bunk, vividly gesturing his arms in a way that reminds Derek too much of Stiles, as he tells his brother about god knows what, while Camden listens on with a quirked smile, obviously so happy he's found his sibling.

"Isaac."  He says, catching the boy's attention, sending him down to the infirmary to get blood drawn.

Just as Derek's about to turn tail and leave, Camden calls out.  "I'm sorry.  Stiles means a lot to Isaac, and I didn't know."  Derek nods, it's a good enough reason, and under the same circumstance Derek would have done the same, but he just can't accept Camden's apology.  Even though the man was just protecting his new home and the people he cares about.

Derek thinks back to the hand Camden softly rested on Lydia's wrist, how gentle he was with her, how careful, but then Derek recalls the cold _I'm sorry for your loss_ and he feels anger boil up inside of him.  He turns away from Camden, walking out of the barracks.

"Derek Hale."  A sly voice calls out to him while he's lost in his thoughts, and Derek rolls his eyes recognizing that voice anywhere.

"Ephraim."  He claps the larger man's hand, pulling him into a loose hug.  "Haven't seen you in a long time."

"Months I think."  Ephraim taps his chin, his skin glowing onyx in the low light of the corridors, silver glittering in his hair.

"How's Belinda?" 

"Oh you know, at the 'stead.  It's calving season now, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."  Derek remembers all too clearly, wrapping chains around calves' feet when the mother's needed that extra help giving birth.  Derek remembers the spill of embryonic fluid signifying a new birth of life.  He remembers the cry of a new born calf.  He remembers Peter selling the whole herd and land to Ephraim and his young daughter when the three of them just needed to leave their old life behind.  Needed to stop smelling burnt ashes on the wind every time they even breathed the air.

Derek couldn't think of a better man to care for his family's ranch.

"Why aren't you helping that poor girl?"  Derek asks.

Ephraim rolls his eyes.  "My daughter's got five well paid hands, she doesn't need me."

Derek looks Ephraim over.  "Let me guess, trading leather?"

"Oh yeah, Miss Martin ordered a whole bunch of new armor for her guards, she bought my entire stock.  I've been in such good business, I'm thinking of taking a quick trip to the brothels."

"Just don't go making another Belinda."  Derek laughs before remembering that No Nose made threats to sell Stiles to a brothel.  He shudders, realizing that not everyone chooses to be a prostitute. 

Ephraim waggles his eyebrows.  "I was thinking more along the lines of dick than tits this time, want to join me?"

"No thanks, you know I don't like paying for my fucks."  Never did, never will, and even more so now.

"To each their own.  I'll see you around, Derek."

"Wait!"  Derek calls out.  "Eat dinner with us."

"Sure. I'm guessing Lydia gave you your usual rooms."  Derek nods. "I'll bring something delicious."

"No vegetables, you live on a ranch.  I want jerky, or fresh beef, if you have it."

"Oh, Derek, you couldn't handle fresh beef, you wouldn't know what to do with it."

"Stop turning meat into sexual innuendoes, you weirdo."

"You love it."

Derek covers his ears.  "I can't hear you."

Ephraim rolls his eyes.  "Get out of here, boy."

Derek smirks before continuing on his way.  He still has more business to arrange in the hours before dinner, but he's looking forward to eating dinner with Ephraim again.  He was a family friend, and a trader who organized the sale of Hale products before Peter sold the ranch to him.  Derek considers Ephraim family as much as Erica and Boyd are.

***

Hours later, after purchasing barrels full of water and gasoline, Derek slides into the seat beside Ephraim during dinner.  The man brought pemmican instead of jerky, and the sweet bites of dried currants is a wonderful respite from the usual roasted yucca. 

"Isaac?"  Derek asks Erica.

"He's eating with Stiles in the infirmary."

"Who is this Isaac and Stiles?"  Ephraim asks, spooning some barley into his mouth, his tone curious.

"Bounties."

Ephraim stares at him, surprised.  "And you let them walk around freely?"

"They won't run."

"Yes, but someone might run off with them."  Ephraim jokes, and Derek frowns, he never even thought about that.

"Oh, Derek, Derek, Derek, what would you do without me?"  Ephraim laughs, shaking his head.

Derek puffs out an amused breath.  "Evidently lose all my skips."    

"Evidently."   

Eventually, Boyd distracts Ephraim away with talk about calving, and normally Derek would join in, but he's distracted, planning the route he wants to take to Beacon Hills.  At this rate, they'll only have to make one stop for gasoline, and there's a small spring about five hundred miles from Lydia's post, it's tiny, but it'll give them enough water so they don't have to buy any from the next post.

"Derek?"  He looks up at Ephraim, drawn from his planning.  "I'm heading back to my room."  The man says.

Derek rises from his chair, pulling the older man into a hug.  "When are you leaving?"

"Probably in a few days, I'm still haggling over prices, you know how Miss. Martin is."  Does Derek ever know.  "Come visit the ranch if you're ever in the area."  Ephraim says into his ear, but Derek won't.  He never does.

After Ephraim leaves, Derek smiles when he sees Erica and Boyd's elbows brushing each others as they finish their meal, the two of them, smiling like idiots into their respective bowls. 

"Oh, that reminds me."  Derek opens the pocket of his jacket, pulling out the gold rings,  "I got you two something."

Erica grins, eyeing Derek's closed fist.  "Is it pretty?"  She asks, and Derek laughs.

"You could say that.  Close your eyes, and hold out your hands."  Erica does right away, but Boyd shakes his head, informing Derek that the bigger man is just amusing him.  He places the bigger ring in Erica's hand and the smaller in Boyd's.

Erica gasps when she opens her eyes, and Boyd just stares down into his palm, dumbfounded.

"Holy shit, Derek-"  She starts, but Derek holds up a hand.

"Before you say anything I found it, I didn't buy it."

"Found it!?  Where?  Lying in the dirt?"

"Um, no."  Derek scratches his head, sheepish.  "I may have pulled it off a dead man."

Erica purses her lips.  "How romantic."  She says, and Boyd barks out a laugh.

Derek smirks.  "You can always sell them if the marriage doesn't work out."  He oofs when Erica kicks him in the leg before turning to Boyd, smiling.

"So what do you say, will you be my beau?  My main squeeze?  My boo bear?"  Boyd stops Erica's rant, placing his finger over her lips.

"Yes, love."  He removes his finger, kissing her gently on the lips, and she just melts.

"I don't have to officiate this marriage again, do I?"  Derek smiles and Erica puts her hand on his face, pushing him away, before deepening the kiss with Boyd to levels reserved for behind closed doors.

Derek looks away, grinning like an idiot, turning back to see Boyd slide the ring onto Erica's finger, it's just a tad bit loose, easily remedied.  But when Erica puts her ring on Boyd it fits perfectly.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife."  Derek waves his hands.  "You may kiss to your heart's content, when I'm not there to see."  He gets up from his chair, waving at the couple making out over his shoulder as he makes his way down to the infirmary.

***

"Hey."  He greets Isaac.  The infirmary is dark, but bathed in a soft light coming from a lantern sitting beside a garden gnome Derek definitely doesn't look at.  "How is he?"  Derek looks over Stiles' sleeping form where he's still sleeping on his back on the cot beside Isaac's.

"He hasn't woken up yet."  Isaac whispers.  "Satomi's still keeping him under."

"Are you sleeping here?"  Derek asks, Stiles' duffle is tucked under Isaac's feet, an old weather beaten book, clutched in his hand, and Derek supposes that's answer enough.

Isaac glances at Stiles, a faint smile on his face.  "He needs me in the morning."

"Is that when Dr. Ito said he'd awaken?"

Isaac startles at his words, before nervously fidgeting, his fingers creasing the corner of a page, and Derek notices he wraps his feet tighter around Stiles' duffle, like he's trying to reassure himself it's still there.

"Sure."  Isaac nods, and Derek waves away the boy's strange behavior as worry.  After all, his best friend did just get shot.

Derek gently touches Isaac's shoulder.  "He's unlikely to develop an infection now, all he needs is rest."  He says, reassuring the boy.  Isaac nods, before turning away from him, watching Stiles as he sleeps.  Derek takes that as his cue to leave.

***

He's woken in the morning to someone shaking his shoulder.  Blinking his eyes blearily, he finds Erica half on top of him.  "Wake up, Derek."  She shakes him again, and Derek pushes her off.

"What?"  He grumbles, slinging his legs off the side of the bed, wincing when he feels cold stone under his bare feet.  He rubs his eyes, and stretches his arms out, trying to get rid of all the kinks.

"Stiles is awake."  Derek blinks, and gets up from his bed, dressing quickly.  He trails after Erica through the corridors.

When he walks into the infirmary, Isaac's arms are thrown around Stiles' shoulders.  Stiles winces in pain, yet he still wraps his arms tight around Isaac's midsection.

 

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/118781921402/art-for-chapter-six-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

"Don't ever do that again."  Isaac says into Stiles' neck.

Stiles laughs.  "Okay, buddy, I'll try not to get shot again.  Just for you."

Isaac pulls away, looking Stiles in the eye.  "I mean it, don't pull that shit again.  Whatever happens, I can take it, you don't need to be a hero."

"Oh, Isaac, it's like you don't even know me."  Stiles' wipes away the beginnings of tears out of Isaac's eyes, and the other boy pushes his arm away.

"I mean it Stiles." 

"Finnne."  Stiles raises his hand up.  "I, Stiles Stilinski, do solemnly swear to let you, Isaac Lahey, be sexually assaulted in the future when I could just as easily do something to prevent it."

"Fuck off."  Isaac wipes away his tears.  "Seriously, fuck off, Stiles."  Isaac pushes past Derek and Erica as he makes his way out of the infirmary.

"Tough love."  Derek raises his brow at Stiles' words.  When he meets the boy's gaze, Stiles rolls his eyes.  "I know, I know, I'm as asshole."  Derek shrugs.

"You weren't sugar coating anything, I can admire that."

Erica touches his shoulder.  "I'll go find Isaac, make sure he doesn't get in any trouble."

"You gave them the rings."  Stiles points out after Erica leaves, and his voice goes raspy.  Derek hands him a clay mug of water.

"Yeah."

"That's awful nice of you, Derek, it's almost like you're a person."  Derek tries not to feel hurt by Stiles' words.

"Well would you look at that."  Derek snorts sarcastically.  "Turns out I'm a real boy after all."

"No need to get all sassy with me, I'm just saying, I expected you to sell the rings, they're gold."

"It's a better investment to keep them in the family."

"Funny, my dad would say the exact same thing.  Except now, you're getting all our gold."  Stiles expresses bitingly.

Derek shrugs.  "Nothing is free."

"Hear, hear."  Stiles raises his mug, before gently placing it down on the bedside table.  "Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to take a nice long nap.  Surprisingly, getting shot really takes it out of a person.

Derek crosses his arms, looking around the infirmary.  "Where's Dr. Ito?" 

"She's in her magical little room full of whirring machines."  Stiles slurs, waving his arms in the air and Derek wonders exactly what kind of drugs Dr. Ito's been giving him.  "Took my blood there after she bled me dry."

"Aww, little puppy can't handle a small needle?"  Derek teases, and Stiles grins flipping him the bird.

"Fuck off, Derek."

Derek waits for Dr. Ito by her desk while he steadfastly ignores Stiles' counting to fall asleep, every time the boy makes it to fifty, he starts counting backwards back to zero, and Derek can't help but think that's not an effective way to rest.

Dr. Ito opens the door to the machinery room, carefully locking it behind her.

"Hale."  She greets him, sitting down in her chair, before flipping through her charts, going straight to business.  "Strangely enough, Stiles only has traces of mercury in him, and so does Isaac.  In fact, you have a higher concentration of mercury in your tissue than both of them combined."

"That's impossible."  Derek gapes.

"I'm not here to tell you what's possible and what isn't I'm just stating the facts, do with it what you will."

Derek turns to Stiles, and the boy stops counting his numbers, when Derek garners his attention.  "Did the Alphas give you water from a separate source than the rest of the Colony?"

Stiles' brow furrows, his speech still slurring.  "No, we had to get up and get our own water from the same well as everyone else."

Derek frowns.  "I don't understand."  He tells Dr. Ito.

"Well then, we've got a few things in common after all, kiddo."  Derek crosses his arms, and sits back in the chair, glaring at the horrid bearded gnome on the metal desk.  Its features are cracked in an eternal crooked grin, almost like it's laughing at Derek's expense.  He's tempted to give it the finger, and only resists because he's knows Stiles is sure to laugh at him.

He fucking hates conundrums.

***

A few days later, after speaking with Danny again, and fully planning out the assault, Derek decides to take Erica and Boyd out at dusk get rid of the raiders stealing Danny's shipments.  They're armed to the teeth, rightfully so, because the raiders they're going after have crates upon crates of Danny's ammo.

"Do you see the ammo?"  Derek asks Boyd as the bigger man scans the raider's small set up down in a valley a few miles out from the trading post.  Derek, Erica and Boyd, are perched out on the top of the cliffs in the surrounding area, hiding in the bush.

Boyd looks through his sniper's scope and snorts.  "Yeah, the fucking idiots have them in the open."

"Perfect."  Derek says as he studies the surrounding area.  The raiders are camped out in the most unstrategic place possible: there's only two small road leading out of the valley, one leads to a dead end, the other can only be bypassed one car at a time.  They must think they're invincible surrounded by all that ammo.

"No way out, and only one way in."  Erica grins.

"Fuel tank?"  Derek asks.

"Spotted."

"Good.  Keep it in sight until I give my signal."  Derek claps Boyd on the shoulder, and waves two fingers at Erica.  The setting sun is on their side, illuminating the east cliffs, while bathing the west in darkness, as the two of them carefully descend the cliffs, hoping from rock to rock on their way down, while Boyd keeps a sharpshooter eye out.  They're depending on him with their lives, and that's something borne out of trust.  Derek could never imagine doing this with anyone but the people he's with now.  When Danny offered to lend a helping hand, Derek shot him down flat.  The extra body holding a gun would be a hindrance rather than an advantage.

Derek is about fifty yards away from the group, Erica just behind him, holding her rifle steady.  According to Danny, there are five men that have been stealing his shipments and murdering his drivers, but there's only four out in the compound, and Derek assumes the fifth is in the trailer since the light is on.

Crouching behind some sagebrush, he whispers to Erica.  "The fuel tank is unlikely to take out any of them, and with the cloud of smoke, Boyd's probably not going to be able to help us. 

"Not my first rodeo, Derek."  She checks over her rifle, making sure everything is right.

"Okay, we shoot to kill, I don't recognize any bounties on these raiders."

"Seems they're just sick, murdering fucks that never got caught."

"Keep it simple, no heroics, remember what happened last time you got shot." 

"Yeah, Boyd broke your nose, it was wonderful to watch."  Derek rolls his eyes, but then he sees the light go out of the trailer windows he stiffens.

"Ready."  He holds his hand up in a fist, and the fifth man leaves the trailer, scratching his pot belly, smoking a cigarette.  Derek waits for him to lock it behind him, and walk away a few steps, before he spreads his hand open, and Boyd lets lose the shot, right into the fuel tank.

Erica and Derek are ready for the explosion that follows, their hands covering their ears tightly, but the men in the compound aren't and a few of them are on the ground, clutching their bodies in agony.  Derek never took into account shrapnel, and it appears the gasoline tank was a bit more fragile than he previously though.

"Go."  Derek says, and they take off out of the sagebrush, shooting quickly and cleanly at the two men left standing, before moving to the ones curled up on the ground.  Derek puts one out of his misery, when he sees the sharp metal shrapnel sticking out of his femoral artery, bleeding him dry.  Erica handles the other two.

Derek's always tried to separate himself from these situations, tries not to think of these men as people, because if he does, he's bound to not do his job properly, and if he doesn't, someone he cares about gets killed.

"I count five, Derek."  Erica says, still pointing the rifle around, looking for any movement. 

"Check the shack, I'll cover the trailer, just in case Danny was wrong."  Derek walks over to the pot bellied man, pulling his key out of his pocket, ignoring the shrapnel in the man's throat that probably would have bled him out in minutes if Erica hadn't killed him.

Carefully unlocking the trailer, Derek slowly enters the dark small space, cigarette smoke permeates the air, along with the gag worthy stench of semen and piss.  He freezes when he hears a whimper, and quickly searching for a lamp, Derek flicks it on.  Suddenly the space is lit up with the gasoline flame, and Derek feels like puking.

There's a girl chained to the bed, and she doesn't look a day older than sixteen.  "Fuck."  He breathes, and the girl winces.  The chain around her ankle is rusted, and it's rubbed the skin red and raw.  "I'm here to help you."  He tells her, approaching with his arms up, and he feels like screaming into the sky when the girl flinches away as he gets closer, wrapping her arms tight around her body, and there's no doubt in Derek's minds about what happened to her. 

Instead of exacerbating the situation he goes and fetches Erica, standing far away from the trailer, understanding there's nothing he can do for the girl to make this better.  Derek watches Erica give the girl a cooking knife from the shack's kitchen after she frees her from the chain, leading her outside.

Erica knows exactly what to do, because unfortunately, she went through the exact same thing.

There's a reason he doesn't feel bad for killing these people.  Derek makes sure to kick a nearby corpse hard, as he follows a few yards behind Erica and the shivering girl.  Her arms wrapped tight around Erica, fingers clenched white around the handle of the knife.

Derek fucking hates this wasteland.

***

"What did you do with the girl?"  Derek questions Erica as they walk back to the infirmary.  Derek had gone to return the found ammo to Danny, while Erica went to track down the girl's family after she managed to form discernable enough words to give Erica her name.

"I found her mother."

"Good."  It could be worse, the girl could have had no family, and when they left, they would be forced to leave her behind in the post with no prospects.  Everyone knows where teens with no family or prospects go in this wasteland. 

Derek never wants to see another brothel for as long as he lives.

"Yeah."  She nods.  "The mother asked if we were sure we killed the raiders, seems she wants to go back and do the deed herself."

"Any parent would."  

"Don't let it get to you, Derek."  Erica claps him on the shoulder, leaving her arms there, a comfortable weight.  "At least we got her out."

He snorts.  "At least."  They did the small stuff, freeing the girl.  Her mother is still going to have to piece her back together.  Boyd managed to help Erica, but then again Erica had a gun, and dickheads like those raiders to take her frustrations out on.

Derek hasn't stopped by the infirmary in days, so maybe he's hoping Stiles' unique brand of annoying will be able to provide some distraction.

Dr. Ito waves him over the moment he walks in, but he spots Stiles sleeping like he did before, his face buried in his pillow.  Derek frowns, Stiles should not feel anything but agony in that position.

He sits down at the desk, and Dr. Ito speaks, something frightening in her eyes: confusion.  "It's been six days, but Stiles' wound has healed like it's been twice as long, at this rate he should be completely fine in a little over a month."

"How?"  Derek gapes and he hears Erica swallow behind him.

"I have no idea.  All I can say is that it's a miracle."  Dr. Ito looks over at Stiles' bed, studying his sleeping form.

"Miracles don't exist."  First it was the mercury, and now this?  The only person he knew who could heal wounds this fast was Laura.  When she took a bullet to the knee, she was walking properly again after two months, even when the doctor said she would probably never move her leg again.

"I asked Stiles about his accelerated healing, he knows nothing about it, but even he understands the wound should not be as closed as it is."  Derek scrubs at his face and tries to think of this as a good thing, even when all his instincts scream that something is very off with Stiles.

God, maybe this is why the Alpha's wanted him?  Although, Derek doesn't understand how a seventeen year old boy's ability to heal a gunshot wound in a month could ever be advantageous to them.

"Derek?"  Stiles calls out, his voice bleary from sleep.  Derek walks over to his bed, and sits on the cot opposite.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"  Derek asks, his fingers fidgeting, he wants to just reach over the gap and take Stiles' hand in his.

Stiles groans, rubbing his eyes.  "Fucking bored."

Derek feels like laughing.  Not hurt, not sore, but bored.  How like Stiles.

"If you're up for it, I can take you out, teach you to shoot?"  Derek offers and Stiles eyes widen.  His features arrange into a look of determination.

"I can't really lift my arms yet, not unless I want to undo my stitches."

"It's fine, you can just watch, but it sure beats sitting in this stuffy room with those damned gnomes.  What do you say?"

"Fuck yeah."

***

"Where's Isaac?"  Derek asks as they walk through the corridors towards the main gate of the post.

"He's with Camden."  Stiles grumbles, tugging on the bottom of the tank Derek let him borrow.  The sharp white of the bandages contrasts against the dark brown of the shirt.  It reminds Derek that if the gun had gone off just a little bit higher up, it would have hit Stiles' neck and there would have been nothing anyone could do for him.  He would have had to bury Stiles off the side of the road like he did Laura many years ago.

"You don't seem very pleased with that."  Derek remarks.

"He wants to stay with him in the post."

"Camden is his brother."

"Yeah, but-"  Stiles crosses his arms, mumbling under his breath.

"You said Isaac was originally supposed to stay in the Colony, escape on his own, and go back north to Camden before the enforcer took him away."

"Yes, I know, but-"

"Stiles.  Stop."  Derek rests a hand on Stiles' arm.  "Be happy for him, he's stumbled upon his brother by an honestly impossible coincidence in the middle of fucking nowhere.  Isaac's damned lucky."

"I am happy for him, it's just,"  Stiles shrugs.  "I'm going to miss him when we leave."  Derek rubs his thumb along Stiles' arm in comfort, before pulling the boy out of an opening in the cliff face.

"What are those?"  Stiles asks Derek pointing to the black pipes lying out in the open sun.

"Solar power."  Derek answers, walking out to a clear area where the guards go to practice shooting into soft crumbling chalk boulders.  "They're filled with water that heats under the sun, and then the heat is extracted and converted to power, it's how there's electricity in the post." 

"Wow.  Lydia is something else."  Derek frowns at Stiles' words.

"Don't even try, she'll eat you alive."  Derek wonders how his meeting with Lydia went, if all of a sudden Stiles is drooling over her.

"Don't worry, big boy, I've got someone else in mind."  Stiles slaps his hand over his mouth when the words leave it, and Derek frowns.  "I mean, I mean.  Shit."

Derek just laughs, chuckling at Stiles nervousness.  "I guess we're finally talking about the big pink elephant in the room."

"By pink elephant, you mean the night you randomly sucked my dick, right?"  Derek nods before plopping his ass down in the shade of one of the boulders, patting the dust beside him, and Stiles awkwardly sits down, arranging his limbs in a way that can't be very comfortable.

"So, why'd you do it?"  Stiles asks, looking up at Derek under his long, dark lashes.

Derek shrugs and feels like swallowing.  "Felt like it."

"You just feel like sucking cock often?"  Stiles asks, incredulous.

"Not often."  Derek pulls the combat knife out of its sheath, and starts carving little abstract symbols in the dust.

"Are you just going to answer me in short sentences?"

Derek smirks.  "No."

"Well then, seems like we're getting nowhere."

"Why did you ignore me after?"  Derek asks abruptly.

"I didn't ignore you."  Derek raises his brow.  "Fine, I did."  Stiles draws through Derek's random symbols with a long finger.  "You didn't want me to suck you in return."  He mumbles.

"Wait.  So the reason you ignored me was because you were weirded out I didn't want you to blow me?"  Derek asks incredulous.

"Well, yeah."

"You're an idiot."

"Gee thanks."  Stiles says sarcastically, throwing dust in Derek's direction.

"Don't get me wrong."  Derek smiles.  "I think your mouth could do me all sorts of good."  He smirks when Stiles blushes.  "But that moment wasn't really about sex, and I didn't want to turn it into a simple fuck."

He has Stiles' full attention now, and the boy studies him with an unreadable expression on his face.  "What was it about then?"

"The stars."

"What?"  Stiles snorts and Derek rolls his eyes.

"I just felt like the moment needed something else to make it more, well, more."

"And me losing my virginity was that?"

"I took your virginity?"  Derek asks, shocked.

"Duh, have you seen me?  The last person I kissed decided she was gay after I had my tongue in her mouth, and that's saying something."

"You're very self depreciative.  Has anyone ever told you that?"  Derek frowns, before laughing at the fact that Stiles thinks he's unattractive, when Derek has never seen a person more beautiful than the boy sitting beside him now.

"That's what Scott always says."

"Scott?"

"My best friend.  It's always been Scott, Heather, and me, ever since we were babies, they are my family, along with my dad."  Stiles says licking his dry lips.  "Mr. Harris used to call us the terrifying threesome."

Derek scoffs.  "I can see why."

"Hey!  I am an absolute pleasure."

Derek smirks at him.  "I bet."  And Stiles' blush grows darker.  "Now, come on."  He pats Stiles' knee, making him get up.  "Stand behind me, and I'll show you how to properly hold a gun so the kick doesn't dislocate your shoulder."

***

It's been two weeks since Derek carried a bleeding Stiles into the infirmary and they're leaving in a few days.  Stiles and him are on much better terms than before.  Sometimes Derek actively seeks the boy out to talk.  He's is not so annoying now that Derek can strain out the blabbering nonsense and pay attention to, and appreciate, the valuable things he sometimes says.

Isaac's definitely staying behind.  A day after his moment with Stiles in the shooting range, Isaac came to Derek making that perfectly clear, moving his things out of Stiles' duffle onto the bunk above Camden's to Stiles' crestfallen expression.  Derek left the boys to hug it out in peace.  Gently running his hand through Stiles' buzz cut the next time he saw him with slightly reddened wet eyes.

It's their last night in the post and Erica's gone with Boyd to say goodbye to the girl they rescued from the raiders, while Isaac's sleeping in his new bunk in the barracks after him and Stiles had a very tearful goodbye.  Even though Isaac's going to go see them off in the morning.

Derek's sitting on the cot beside Stiles', his leather jacket off, lying beside him as he flips through the medical encyclopedia Dr. Ito's letting him read out of the generosity of her own heart.  Or, as she likes to remind him, for a price.  The lantern burns a soft yellow, bathing the room in its soft light.  Derek had taken the gnome sitting on Stiles' bedside table, tucking it into Dr. Ito's desk, not wanting it to stare at him any more than it had to. 

He reads through paragraphs upon paragraphs detailing causes for fast healing, and yet he can't find anything that could even remotely explain Stiles' recovery speed.  His wound is mostly closed now.

"Hey, Derek?"  Stiles draws his attention, voice soft.

"Hmm?"  Derek looks over the encyclopedia at Stiles where he's sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing Derek.  His hands are in his lap, twitching nervously over the superfluous hospital gown Dr. Ito still makes him wear in the infirmary.

"This is the last time, in a long time, that we'll have a bed, right?"  Stiles asks, his face unreadable.

And Derek gulps because Stiles said we, not me.  _We_.

Stiles lifts the hospital gown, his eyes boring right into Derek's, throat bobbing, his posture taut, until Derek breaks the unnerving eye contact, looking down.  Stiles has absolutely nothing under the gown. 

Derek closes the encyclopedia with a snap.

He slips off of his cot, and climbs onto Stiles', holding eye contact as the boy backs towards the headboard, leaning back against the pile of pillows, gazing right at Derek as he spreads his legs open for him.

Derek's careful not to jostle Stiles' shoulder as he settles down between his legs, a hand keeping his weight off the boy, while the other cups his cheek, stroking along the prominent cheekbones that stand out all the more on account of the buzzcut.

"Are you sure?"  He asks Stiles.  Sure of what, Derek doesn't know.  Sex is defiantly an option, but what else?

 _Feelings_.  He thinks, those are on the table.

"Yes."

Derek leans down and places a soft kiss against Stiles' mouth, waiting for him to pull away, to joke, to say _haha, gotcha,_ but he doesn't, and Derek just runs his hand further up, cupping Stiles' nape tangling his fingers in the short hairs.  Eventually Stiles opens his mouth to Derek, and he takes the opportunity for what it is, dipping his tongue into the wet heat, drawing a strangled moan out of Stiles.

 

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/118781968952/art-for-chapter-six-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

"Fuck."  Stiles whispers when Derek finally pulls away.

"Good?"  Derek smiles at him and Stiles doesn't even says anything to that, he just grabs the back of Derek head and just _fucks_ his tongue into Derek's mouth, his hips undulating in obscene motions that echo the movement of his tongue, and Derek can feel himself harden in his pants.

Pulling back from Stiles, he tugs his shirt up over his head, watching Stiles' eyes widen as they trace down his body in the low light, an appreciative tilt to his mouth.  Coyly, Stiles' hands move to Derek's belt, quickly undoing the buckle and just sticking his hand in Derek's pants, apropos of nothing.  He jacks Derek off with a dry hand for a bit before it starts to chafe, and Derek pulls Stiles' hand out, placing a kiss on the boy's palm, before licking at both their hands.  Derek watches Stiles' pupils dilate, honey completely disappearing, consumed into black as his mouth gapes open.

Derek smirks before reaching under Stiles' gown, and his mouth falls open even further when Derek touches him.  Derek uses his other hand to push down his pants to his knees, cursing leaving his boots on, but unwilling to undo all the laces to get them off.  He doesn't pause his motions on Stiles' dick.

"Derek."  Stiles moans.  "Closer, please."  Stiles begs, and Derek complies, pushing Stiles' gown up to his belly as he brings their erections together.  He strokes them both off in his large palm, precome smearing, easing the way.  Stiles is reduced to a withering, shaking mess and Derek gladly looks his fill as Stiles groans his completion, Derek following only seconds later.

Derek sits back on his knees, staring down at the come covered, soft skin in front of him.  Grabbing some nearby white bandages, Derek wets them in the pitcher, using them to wipe the come from the both of them, before pulling his pants back up, and tucking himself in.

Stiles pulls down the hospital gown, and smiles sleepily up at Derek, who finds himself smiling back.  Stiles pulls his legs back together, and scoots over on the bed, patting the vacated area beside him. It's a tight fit, but Derek still manages to squeeze himself into it, making sure, he's the one closest to the door.

Derek doesn't know when he came to trust Stiles as much as he did Boyd and Erica, but when he feels the boy's long finger card through his hair as he drifts off to sleep, all he can think of is he's glad he did.

***

Derek awakens to the rustling of a bag and the jangle of something soft against glass.  Blinking his eyes open, he watches Stiles' back as the boy shakes out something into his palm, swallowing it with an audible gulp. 

Now wide awake, Derek slowly gets up from the bunk, careful not clue Stiles in on his plan.  Derek grins when he wraps his arms around Stiles from behind and the boy startles, dropping whatever he was holding.  But Derek's reflexes are fast and he catches the cold, glass object with a smile, before looking down at what almost shattered, his grin quickly dropping off his face.

"What are these?"  Derek shakes the blue bottle full of orange pills.  "What the hell are you taking?"  Stiles makes a grab for the bottle, but Derek steps back.  Dr. Ito gave Stiles herbs to brew into tea for pain, not pills, so whatever Stiles is taking, it wasn't given to him by the doctor.

"Stop."  Derek sees tears waver in Stiles' eyes.  "Please, I need them."  Derek's anger softens at Stiles' tone.

"Stiles."

"Don't"  Stiles pleads.  "Please, just give them here."

"If the Alphas got you addicted to something..."  Derek trails off, as Stiles shakes his head.

"It's not like that."

"Then what?"  Derek pleads.

"I can't, just please."  Derek stares at him for along moment, before sighing and placing the bottle back in Stiles' hands.  Stiles breathes a sigh of relief before tucking the bottle away safely in his duffle.

"We'll talk about this soon."  Derek says defeated, running his hand through his messy hair.  But he knows in his gut, watching Stiles pack up, refusing to even look at him, that Stiles will do absolutely anything to not talk about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not watching Fury Road, until I finish this fic, it'll be a nice reward for writing this beast!
> 
> Thanks for reading, loves :)
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: Derek and Erica find a girl in sexual slavery and manage to rescue her. Rape is not graphically described, but it is strongly implied.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No art this week peeps. But I'm thinking of buying a tablet because there comes a time when a mouse just doesn't cut it anymore...

"I'm going to miss you, Stiles."  Isaac wraps his arms tight around Stiles' shoulders.  Stiles is unafraid to admit he's crying.  He's most likely never going to see Isaac again.  It's too dangerous to cross the wasteland simply to visit someone.  Not to mention his dad.  Once Stiles is back in Beacon Hills, his dad is unlikely to ever let him leave again.  He's probably not going to let him drive the jeep either, considering that he was taken when he went out joyriding with Scott and Heather.

"Me too."  Stiles nuzzles closer into Isaac's neck, ignoring the small amount of pain in his shoulder, it barely hurts now, except when he moves it or prods at it too hard.

"Come on, Stiles."  Erica sighs, exasperated, from where she's loading arranging bags in the Camaro, and Stiles pouts.

"Nooo, I want to stay here forever.  Marry me, Isaac." 

Isaac chuckles, but leans closer, whispering in Stiles' ear.  "And how would Derek feel about that?"

Stiles pulls back, looking into Isaac's eyes.  They're crinkled in amusement, and his lips are quirked in a smile.  "How did you know?"  If anything, Isaac's smile grows wider.

"I didn't until now."  Isaac teases.  "So you and hot stuff, huh?"

"Shut up."  Stiles pushes out of Isaac's arms, but stays close, and Isaac's expression grows serious.

"Be careful, Stiles.  Don't get too attached to him, he's unlikely to stay in Beacon Hills for you."

"I know."  He sighs, running a hand over his hair.  "It's not anything serious or permanent."  Stiles sneaks a peek over at Derek.  He's helping Boyd load water barrels into the back of the Jeep.  Sweat glistens, and the morning sun bronzes his skin.  Stiles feels his throat run dry.  He swallows. "It's just stress relief."

Isaac takes Stiles' hand in his.  "Still, be careful, there's a line between simple attraction and love, don't let yourself cross that line."  Stiles nods, squeezing Isaac's hand before letting go.

"What are you going to do now?"  Stiles asks.  It's not like Lydia's going to let Isaac live in her post for free just because he's her lover's little brother.  She'll want him to pay his way.

"I'm laying low for a bit, and Lydia's suggested I change my appearance.  Dye and cut my hair, get a tattoo or two, you know, just in case the Alphas send out bounty posters.  Then, I'm going work for Danny."

"Isn't that dangerous?" Stiles questions, Derek told him all about the raiders attacking Danny's shipments.

Isaac shrugs.  "It pays damn well because of it.  Besides, Cam took me out shooting, told me my natural aptitude with the bow happened to translate very well into a gun."

"Stiles!  Come on."  Erica calls out again, and Stiles sighs, rolling his eyes.

"See what I have to put up with now that you're leaving me?"  Isaac laughs before pulling him into a shorter hug, but one just as firm.

"If you're ever in this area again..."

"Yeah, I'll come see you."  Stiles presses a smacking kiss to Isaac's cheek.  "We went through hell together, heck I got shot!  Can't ever forget that." 

"You probably won't ever let Derek forget that."

"Oh yeah, I'm going to milk it."  Stiles smiles, deviously.  "He asks me to do anything, I'll just grab it and fake a moan."

Isaac snorts, his grin turning lascivious.  "Grab _that_ and you'll moan, alright."  But before Stiles can ever chuff indignantly, Erica grabs him by the back of his shirt, pulling him off to the Jeep, Isaac trailing after him, a grin on his face.

"Hey!  Quit with the manhandling."  Stiles protests.

"It wouldn't have had to come to this if you'd just hurried it up."

Stiles' pouts as Erica pushes him into the Jeep, not in the driver's side this time.  "I'm never going to see him again, cut me some slack."

"You're kidding me, right?"  Erica rolls her eyes.  "Danny trades with Argents all the time.  And where do Argents live?  Oh right, _Beacon Hills_."  Stiles' eyes widen, and he looks over at Isaac who's smirking like a know it all.

"You knew."  He accuses, and the boy just shrugs his shoulders.

"I knew."

"Asshole."

"Hey, two can play at this game, think of it as payback for the infirmary." 

Stiles just shakes his head, and crosses his arms, slumping in his seat, and Isaac leans through the open window, his eyes wide and happy.  "I'll see you eventually, yeah?"

Stiles feels himself melt when faced with his friend's puppy eyes, almost as deadly as Scott's.  "Yeah, dude.  I can't wait for you to meet Scott and Heather."

"Yeah, me too."  Isaac smiles, hopping down from the footstep, moving to stand beside Camden.  The driver's side opens, and Derek pulls himself up, shutting the door with a snap behind him.

"Hey."  He greets, hazel eyes searching Stiles' face, and he tries not to gulp.  He really doesn't want Derek asking about the pills.  Stiles could always tell him what they're for, but he still doesn't trust the reputation surrounding the Feral Wolf very much.  No matter how much he trusts Derek.

"Hey."  Stiles waves pathetically, and Derek's lips twitch.  "So, what am I doing in this seat?"

Derek raises a brow.  "Sitting."

"Well no shit.  I mean, why are you in my seat?"

"Because I'm driving."  Derek says starting the Jeep.  "Since you can't.  You're an invalid."

"I resent that."

"Good.  Just stating the facts."

 _Asshole,_ Stiles mouths, turning away from Derek and waving out the window at Isaac as they drive past the solar power fields through the open gate.  Stiles sticks his head out the window, watching the Martin trading post disappear into the distance, the sandstone cliffs where his second brother by choice is staying behind, fading away

"Stop that."  Derek tugs on his shirt.  "You're going to lose your head."  Stiles pulls himself back into the Jeep, sticking his tongue out as he settles comfortably down in his seat.  Derek will be sure to wake him up when they stop at midday.

***

He's running through the wasteland.  His legs pumping, heart thumping, and he feels like he's going to run out of breath at any second.  The horrible cries of talcum men follow in his wake, and they keep growing louder, getting closer.

He's actively sobbing, unable to stop the tears running down his face, the boiling midday heat sucking them up, turning the moisture into vapor, quickly dissipating.  He doesn't know what to do or where to go.  He's running blind.  He knows the pools upon pools of water in the distance are just mirages, but he can't help but run towards them, hoping for some relief from this parching hell.

The sand is relentless under his feet, and he just can't seem to get a grip on it.  Tripping on his feet, he falls violently, rolling down a sand dune, head over heels for what seems like eternity, until he slows to a stop, his chin slamming into the ground so hard, he tastes blood.

A shadow casts down upon him, and he resolutely doesn't look up, until he feels warm wetness drip onto his ear.  Slowly and fearfully, dreading what he will find, but already knowing what the hot viscous liquid is, Stiles touches his fingers lightly to his ear, smearing the liquid on his fingers.  He cries and sobs when he looks at what coats his fingers.  Thick, red blood.  Already flaking and drying away just like his tears.  Not even lifeblood is safe from the sun.

"Did you think you could simply leave us?"  A voice growls, and Stiles trembles in fear.  "You are ours, you think we would just _let_ you leave?"  A foot comes, pressing down on his back, forcing him deeper into the sand.  Blood drops heavier, and harder into his hair, running down his scalp onto his face until he can taste metallic copper.  He splutters at the blood in his mouth, and another foot kicks his side.  He gasps, dry heaving, as he's pushed onto his back, squinting up into the midday sun.

"You belong to us."  Another, more feminine voice intones, and Stiles can't see a thing, too blinded by sand and light.  Suddenly, he feels a heavy wet thud as a large round object lands on his chest.  Stiles knows what it is, and he feels like sobbing but his tears have run dry.  He reaches out trembling hands, and combs his fingers through dark, black hair, touches a rough, but slowly growing soft beard.  And Stiles knows it will never get the chance to grow long enough to feel gentle against his lips.

Slowly, Stiles cracks open his eyes, and feels like closing them again, he expected warm, hazel eyes to gaze back at him, but all he sees is a cold, unseeing gaze, clouded over with white film.  Pasty skin, blood soaking into his shirt, and dead.  So dead, dead, dead. 

"This is what happens to those who take our property."  A foot comes down upon Derek's head, smashing it into his stomach, and Stiles wakes with a wailing scream.

"Stiles!  I've got you, I've got you."  Warm arms constrict around his body, claustrophobic and awful.    

"No!"  Stiles claws himself away, pushing out of the arms, pressing back until metal protects his rear from attack, legs curled in front of him, ready to kick out at the threat.

"Stiles."  Derek soothes him.  "It was just a nightmare, you're safe."

Stiles blinks, recognizing the man in front of him, with a hand extended, hazel eyes, alive and full of nothing but worry.  "Derek?"  He nods, and gently pulls Stiles closer, wrapping strong arms around him, but they don't feel constrictive anymore, only protective. 

When they finally pull apart, Stiles looks out the windshield.  It's midday, and the sun is high in the sky, but they're parked in the shade of a rock outcropping.

"Will you be okay?"  Derek scrubs his hands through Stiles' hair, and he nods, but Derek looks critically at him.  "Come with me."  He gets out of the Jeep, and pulls open Stiles door, tugging him out.  "Do you want to talk about it?"  Stiles shakes his head, but holds Derek's hand tighter.

They walk over to where Erica and Boyd are setting up the fire.  Erica glaces up, ready to let loose a joke at his expense, but there must be something in Stiles' eyes that stops her in her tracks.  She sighs, sitting back on her haunches.  "It's Dr. Ito's tea."  She tells Stiles.  "It helps with the pain, but it induces the most horrible, realistic nightmares."  Stiles frowns, he would rather take the pain than deal with another nightmare like that.

Stiles nods, sitting on a rock by the fire, crossing his arms in front of his legs, Derek sits beside him on the same rock, and Stiles snuggles closer to the man.

After they finish eating, Derek grabs his hand, tugging him up from the dusty ground.  Derek takes him back to the Jeep.  Lifting him up by the hips, he places Stiles in the back beside the strapped down water barrel.  "Sleep."  He says, gently scrubbing his fingers through Stiles' short hair.

"I don't really want to."  Stiles grimaces, thinking of the blood, the sand, the Alphas.

"They're just nightmares."  Derek tries to reassure him, but Stiles shakes his head.

 _No_ , _not just nightmare_ Stiles feels like saying.  They could so easily become true.  The Alphas only have to find them, and then boom, they would kill Erica, Boyd, and Derek in the most brutal way possible, and make him watch.

Derek gazes at him before nodding his head and looking through a duffle full of the things Derek bought at the Martin post.  "Here,"  He hands Stiles a worn paperback, before leaving and walking back to the camp.  Stiles flips the book around and studies the cover.   _Fahrenheit 451._   Stiles snorts.  There's nothing like reading dystopian literature, in the midst of a dystopian world.

Stiles wonders just what he's about to bring down upon Beacon Hills.

***

They're driving through a long stretch of highway, framed on either side by a wide expanse of sandy desert.  There's not even a hint of vegetation in sight.  Stiles asked Derek if they are going to be alright.  If there's nothing green, there's bound to be no aquifers, and with no aquifers, there's no water.  But Derek reassured him, saying the spring they were driving towards is only a day or so away.

By default, they leave the radio on.  White noise is better than the crackle of tires on sand.  The wasteland is full of death and danger.  And just like the man killed by a coyote, it's so easy to take a wrong turn and end up dead in a ditch, rotting away, until some lucky soul finds the corpse and loots it for supplies.  But while there's that side to the wasteland, there's also another.  

It's fucking boring.

Nothing but sand and baking heat, and Stiles knows, if he wasn't covered head to toe with cloth, he'd be as red as the iron-oxide soil.  But not everything is so easily covered, and Stiles' nose is already peeling.

He's idly flipping through _Fahrenheit 451,_ puzzling over what sort of depraved society would burn books when they are so rare and cherished, when he suddenly hears a unfamiliar crackle coming from the radio.  Turning to Derek, he finds the man looking back with wide eyes.  All of a sudden, just like they've crossed a magical force field of radio signals the stereo blares to life.

Zero to sixty in one second, blasting the most god awful shit that's ever passed though Stiles' ears.

"Turn it down."  Derek winces through clenched teeth.  His hands are in a tight grip around the steering wheel, he must have sensitive ears.  Stiles hurries, turning the worn volume knob until the words are only slightly discernable.  Now, they can only hear the low tinny of a man singing about giving pretty flies to white guys.

"I thought you said there wasn't any water here."  Stiles stares in disbelief at the crystal clear sound produced by the radio.

"There isn't."

"Well, there must be if someone is alive enough to maintain a radio signal and play this crap."

"Just turn it off."  Derek massages his forehead with two fingers.

"What if they say something important?"  Stiles argues.

"At this point, I really couldn't care."

"We're not going to try to find the source, are we?"  Stiles asks, strangely disappointed, he loves uncovering a good mystery.

"No."  Derek sends him a look that illustrates just how stupid he thinks Stiles is.

"Good plan.  It's probably a creepy talcum man living off the dew he licks from rocks in the morning like a beetle.  Oh, what if it's a beetle man?"

"What the hell, Stiles..."

"Never mind."  Stiles sighs, leaning his arms on the window ledge, staring out into the wasteland as they drive by, hoping to maybe see where the radio signal originates.  A building, or maybe a lone adobe hut.  But there's nothing.  And after an hour, when Stiles turns the radio back on, white noise echoes back in the confines of the Jeep.

Oh well, it's a mystery he'll just have to leave unsolved.  Besides, any human living out there with no groundwater source has to be insane, considering the music they're listening to. 

***

"There's a spring here?"  Stiles stares out into the bone dry landscape as he leans against the side of the Jeep. 

Derek had randomly pulled off the road, and Stiles thought they were just stopping earlier than usual to set up camp before nightfall.  But no, the spring Derek's practically been rhapsodizing about for the last few hours is here.

Here, where the ground is covered in sand, and the only plants around are a scattered bushes dried to a crisp in the sun.  Looking around the land, he sees no other indication of life.  "Are you sure."

"Yes, I'm sure."  Derek rolls his eyes, as he helps Boyd roll the half empty water barrel out from the back of the Jeep.  Stiles had offered to help, but Derek snorted and asked him to lift his arm up, and when Stiles winced, Derek smiled triumphantly.

They roll the barrel over to a rough rock outcropping, and push it up against the wall in the shade.  Erica then takes over for Derek, bringing over the rubber siphon pipes, and Stiles assumes she's going to summon water out from the mythical source, as she disappear further into the scattering of massive boulders, leaving the hose and Boyd behind.

Derek joins him, leaning against the Jeep.  "Erica and Boyd will have their turn first, then we'll go in." 

"We?"  Stiles quirks a brow, and Derek grins at him.

"Unless you'd rather wash your own back?"

Stiles shakes his head.  "I wasn't complaining, I just still don't believe in this mysterious spring you're telling me about."

"Watch."  Derek gestures towards the barrel, and Stiles observes in awe as water suddenly flows out of a nondescript hole in the sandstone.  Boyd covers the hole with the hose, sticking the other end in the barrel, as crystal clear water flows.  "We dam up the water so it doesn't flow outside unless we move a few rocks out of the way.  It keeps the area free of raiders that don't know about the water, and keeps us safe."

"How do you know?"  Stiles questions curiously, and Derek smiles smugly.

"Laura showed it to me a few years ago."  Derek says, a fond expression overcoming his features.

"Laura?"  Derek's never mentioned a Laura before.  She be a relative of his, or maybe someone more intimate?

Suddenly, as if snapped out of a daze, Derek turns to him, wide eyed, like he can't believe he even mentioned that name, and he shuts right down, his expression turning grim.  "My sister."  Derek explains reluctantly and Stiles doesn't push Derek to explain why his sister is not with them right now.  Somehow, Stiles knows the answer will be nothing but disheartening.

"Let me show you something."  Derek changes the subject and takes Stiles hand in his.  Pulling him away from the others and the vehicles.  They walk out onto a parched field, the ground is so cry it's cracking.  Derek scans over the scarce vegetation, seemingly looking for a particular plant.

Eventually, he must find it because he pulls Stiles down to small, light green bush.  The inner leaves still appear somewhat alive, but the outer ones, are dried beyond repair.  It's these outer leaves Derek picks, showing Stiles the long thin leaves.

"What's this?"   Stiles queries, running fingers over the plant.

"Wormwood.  It'll help you relax, and it's a much better alternative than the herbs Dr. Ito gave you."

"The pain isn't that bad."  Stiles didn't even brew the tea in the afternoon.  So long as he avoids moving his arm, he hardly feels anything more than a small twinge, and that he can deal with that.

Derek holds out his hand anyway, and reluctantly Stiles opens his.  Derek drops the herbs into his palm.  "Try it.  You should probably smoke it."  He stands up, pulling Stiles along with him, resting a big palm against Stiles' hip, stroking a thumb along the hot skin where Stiles' shirt has ridden up.  "It'll help with the nightmares at least."  Stiles nods, tucking the wormwood into his pocket.

The barrel's full, by the time Stiles and Derek walk back to the vehicles, but Erica and Boyd are nowhere in sight.

Derek props open the passenger door of the Camaro and rummages around in the glove compartment, pulling out a bunch of papers and random items before he finds a small metal case.  "Here."  He gives it to Stiles.  "Tell me when your shoulder starts to hurt, and I'll show you how to use it."  Stiles opens the case, pulling out a grey stone pipe with gorgeous vegetal engravings running down the sides.  It appears well loved, but doesn't look like it's been used recently.

"Derek."  He places it back into its case, and tries handing it back.  "I can't use this, it looks, well, it looks special."

Derek just shakes his head, pushing the case back to Stiles.  "It was my uncle's but it's just taking up room now."

"But-"  Stiles protests.

"I'm going to get rid of it if you don't use it, I can't afford to drag around things I don't use."  Stiles frowns at Derek's dismissive words.  It seems like he has a rather complicated relationship with his uncle.

Stiles tucks the pipe away into his pocket, Derek following its path with his eyes, like he's still reluctant to let it go.  "I'll give it back to you when..."  Stiles trails off, figuring the _when you leave me behind in Beacon Hills,_ doesn't need to be said.  But Derek just shakes his head, looking away.

"Keep it."

"Are you sure?"  Stiles asks carefully, but Derek just nods, and Stiles walks over to the Jeep, depositing the wormwood and pipe in his duffle.  His shoulder has been fine all day, but he should check the bandages.  He rummages around, finding the first aid kit.

"Hey, kid."  Stiles startles, and jerks up, nearly braining himself on the door frame.

"Erica."  He greets the woman leaning cockily against his Jeep.  "What's up?"

Erica smiles, a shade more sly than usual.  "I'm just wondering what you're doing with Derek." 

Stiles nearly drops his duffle.  "We're just friends, yeah friends.  Um, kind of friends?"  He gulps when Erica smirks at him, clearly taking pleasure in making him squirm.

"Calm down, Stiles.  I know you're fucking."  Stiles feels like shriveling up, this is exactly like the time Heather's dad sat him down and asked him about his intentions except much worse because he hadn't actually done anything with Heather before that happened.  Now, he's had sex with Derek a grand total of two times, and even if they haven't actually fucked in the whole penetrative sense of the word, he still wants to do that with Derek.  Oh, how he wants.

"Are you going to warn me off of breaking his heart?"

Erica snorts, incredulous.  "Derek's a big boy, he can handle himself.  But, if you manipulate him in some way or another."  She threatens, poking his side with a long finger.  "Just know that my husband and I have guns.  Big guns, and we know how to use them."  Stiles swallows, his eyes wide.

"Stop scaring him."  Boyd slides up beside Erica, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, and Stiles notices her hair is wet, but quickly drying under the sun.  "Spring's free for you and Derek."  Boyd says, and Stiles nods, eager to take off, soap and fresh bandages in hand.

He quickly runs over to Derek, where the man stands smirking beside the full water barrel.  "Was that amusing for you?"  Stiles gasps, out of breath, chest heaving, and Derek chuckles.

"Very."  He smiles, his eyes crinkling up like they sometimes do when Derek finds something worth laughing over, and Stiles swallows, throat bobbing.  "Come on."  He takes Stiles hand in his, steering him around the many boulders and rock outcropping surrounding them.  He obviously knows his way around. 

Finally, Derek pulls him to a crack in the rock face barely wide enough for Stiles to squeeze through, let alone Derek.  "Here?"  Stiles questions, unconvinced.

"Yes."  Derek picks up a few stones, before casting them into the darkness.  "Snakes."  He explains when Stiles frowns questioningly at him.  "Stay behind me."

He doesn't have to tell Stiles twice.

They descend into the darkness, Derek holding out a lamp in front of them, lighting the dusty path with a faint orange glow.  Stiles grips one hand tight to the walls, the other he wraps around the hem of Derek's tank.  Fortunately for him the slightly sloping path ends after only a short while, emerging into a modestly sized cavern lit from above through a huge opening in the rock.  It's small and they could only fit the Jeep inside, with hardly any room to spare.  But still, it's enough to hold the crystal clear water bubbling in a limestone pool.

Stiles approaches the water, dipping a finger in, finding it warm to the touch.  There's a faint hint of sulfur in the air, so he knows it's a natural spring.

"Wow."  Stiles exclaims, sitting back on his haunches, impressed.  "Is it okay to bathe?  I don't want to contaminate the drinking water."

"Yeah, we draw the drinking water up from the ground, not the pool, plus it gets filtered through the bedrock, so go right ahead."  Derek pulls his shirt up over his head, and the movement spurs Stiles to action.  Soon, it's a race to see who can undress faster.  They're both pulling off clothes with purpose, not taking their eyes off from each other.  Stiles only wins the unofficial contest because Derek takes an age to remove his boots, and by the time he finishes, Stiles' clothes are folded into a neat pile far enough away from the pool they won't get wet if he splashes.

Stiles feels a light callused hand touch the bandage protecting the wound from the elements.  "Need some help?"  Derek offers, and Stiles smiles.

Stiles sits cross legged beside the pool on the warm limestone heated from below.  He remembers when Derek cut his hair to a buzz only a few weeks ago, and he can't help but draw parallels between that time and now.  Stiles doesn't hide his groin away from Derek's gaze this time.  He lets Derek look when he wants, and in return Stiles watches Derek, unabashed.

Softly, Derek wraps his bandages, carefully peeling them off the scabbed wound, touching the skin with light reverence.  He looks up into Stiles' eyes,  "Does it hurt?"  He questions, probing the area, searching for infection, but Stiles shakes his head, and Derek bends over.  Reaching into the pool, he dips a washcloth in the clean water, before squeezing the excess out.  Stiles studies the lines of Derek's body; the impressive muscles he just wants to touch, the dark hair he just wants to comb his fingers through. 

Stiles swallows when Derek flexes his ass, undoubtedly for Stiles' viewing pleasure.

Derek gently sponges the washcloth on the wound, and Stiles only feels the slight hint of pressure, but nothing worrisome, and Derek continues when Stiles doesn't protest in pain.  He makes quick and efficient swipes of the cloth, before pulling it away and looking it over.  After finding no splotches of pink on the cloth, Derek washes it out, tossing it on a rock to dry.

"Done?"  Stiles asks.

"I'll help you wrap the bandages after."  Derek slides into the pool, Stiles right after him, the water goes up to their waists and is delightfully pleasant on his aching muscles, stiff from sitting in the Jeep all day, and bumping up and down on uneven roads. Stiles groans in pleasure as he sinks down into the water, a pleasant contrast from the cool air around them.  Derek pulls him over to a few underwater boulders and they sit on them comfortably.    

He leans his head back, closing his eyes, and just relaxes against the smooth stone walls of the pool, soaking up the relief.  He feels a hand rest against his thigh, too far away from anything important to be overtly sexual, but certainly not a friendly touch either.  "Get the soap?"  Derek requests, and Stiles sighs, turning around on the boulder.  Kneeling on his knees, he stretches his good arm out, trying to reach for the bar without having to get out of the pool.

He almost slides off the boulder and nearly brains himself when he feels big, warm hands cup his ass.

"Is this okay?"  Derek asks, kneading, but not doing anything else, waiting for his consent.

"Yup.  Very okay, very much okay."  Stiles squeaks.

Derek chuckles lowly, and Stiles can almost feel the heat of his breath against Stiles' wet cooling skin.  "You don't even know what I want."

"At this point, I'd be okay with pretty much anything."  Stiles guarantees.

"Don't promise things you won't deliver."  Derek punctuates his point by biting Stiles' cheek with _teeth_ , making him jerk in shock and arousal.

"Fuck, _Derek_ , please."  Stiles groans.  Pleading, for what?  He doesn't know.  Stiles' fingers tighten around the edges of the pool, until the rocks bite into his palms.  "Anything, seriously, anything."

Stiles feels Derek massage his ass as the man ponder over the plethora of options Stiles granted him, before pulling his cheeks apart, just looking at him.  Stiles knows that at this point, he's an embarrassing shade of pink.

"What are you doing?"  Stiles swallows, fully expecting Derek to pull oil out of god knows where, and just fuck him, but Derek seems intent on simply looking, and suddenly Stiles feels nervous about being so closely and intimately examined.

"Wouldn't you like to know."  Derek teases him, before peppering kisses to Stiles' ass.  "I want to eat you out, is that alright?"

"Fuck yeah."  Stiles exhales, and in the same breath he feels Derek's tongue on his ass, licking from taint to cleft.  "Oh hell."  Stiles gasps as Derek goes to town, licking, biting, and sucking bruises into pale skin until Stiles is reduced to a worn, whimpering mess.  He's not even bothering to hold himself up on his elbows anymore, he's chest down on warm rock, all his remaining attention focused on trying not to thrust back onto Derek's face.

"Stiles."  Derek pulls away, but presses one last kiss to a cheek, before wrapping his arms around Stiles' waist, pulling him fully out of the water and onto the smooth limestone bank.

Derek hauls himself out of the pool, and Stiles watches with heavy eyes as the water runs off tanned golden skin in dripping rivulets.  Derek's muscles bunch as he crawls up over Stiles, spreading Stiles' legs and resting cradled in between them, echoing their position in the infirmary.

Derek bends down and captures Stiles' mouth in a full, dirty kiss.  Tongues and teeth, clashing and biting.  He gasps into Derek's mouth when their erections slickly grind together, water and precome easing the way.

After an embarrassingly short amount of time, Stiles comes with a long groan, his back arched in pleasure.  He lazily takes Derek in hand, stroking until the man also shoots his release all over Stiles' belly.

"Fuck."  Derek chuckles as Stiles collapses back down onto the limestone. 

"Yeah."  Stiles flops his hands.  "I second that."  He glances down at the mess on his belly, frowning, and Derek rolls his eyes.

"Here."  He tosses Stiles the washcloth, and Stiles quickly wipes drying come from his skin.

Derek pulls him back into the pool, and washes Stiles' back, massaging the muscles with deft, heavy fingers that send shivers up and down his spine, as he slowly sucks bites into wet skin.  Stiles can feel his spent arousal stirring in interest, but they finish up before anything can come of it.

After, Derek wraps new, clean bandages around the scabbing wound, and they redress in the clean clothes Derek brought with him.

When Stiles plops down onto the earth around the fire during dinner, he winces and shifts around until he finds a comfortable position that doesn't irritate the bruises Derek sucked into the skin of his ass.  He pretends to ignore the way Erica snickers and the unamused glare Derek sends her.  But he still grins like an idiot into his own bowl of barley.

***

It's nearing midday and the land eventually transforms from rolling dunes of sand and weathered boulders, into grassier land, scattered with more vegetation.  Stiles knows in his gut that they're nearing Beacon Hills, going by the sheer amount of Joshua trees he keeps seeing.  The road is growing hillier, and the earth more fertile.  Stiles knows they're nearing the mountains protecting the coast.

The thing about the ocean, while it is big, bold and beautiful, it is also salty as fuck.  A long time ago Stiles read about the Dead Sea in an ancient world atlas where the paper was brittle and the colour was faded from the pages.  People would flock to the well known sea in the Middle East because the extremely salty waters were said to have healing powers.  Stiles remembers looking at picture after picture of sandy shores caked in salt, and drift wood turned white with continued exposure to the splashing sea.

One day, after bothering his mom about it for weeks, she packed him in the Jeep and took him west, driving a whole day just to reach what was once the Pacific Ocean.  The land grew more dry and dead the closer they got, and only a mile away from the shore, the Jeep couldn't go any further.

The land was absolutely _caked_ in salt.  White as far as the eye could see, and no sign of the ocean anywhere in the distance.  Ancient trees were preserved for eternity in the salt, and the land was bumpy, white, and hellish.  His mom explained that a long time ago the oceans rose, covering the whole coast in water, and people had to flee inland.  But eventually, the water receded and what remained, baked away under the hot sun.

Stiles can still recall how blue the water looked in those images from the atlas. He's never seen blue water in reality; it's always either brown with silt, or clear.

Stiles knows water reflects the colour of the sky.  But nowadays, clear, clean water is never open to the elements, it's always sheltered away, horded and prized, drawn from underground aquifers. 

Stiles figures beauty is a small price to pay for life.

The sun is high in the sky when they pull over for lunch at midday.  It's his turn to make lunch, and Stiles nestles the yucca in the coals from the fire, waiting for them to pop open, roasted.  Derek hunkers down beside him as Stiles tucks away the final one while the barley boils.

"We'll reach Beacon Hills by midmorning, tomorrow."  Derek shifts closer to him and Stiles can see the beads of sweat from the fire glisten on his face. 

"Cool."  Stiles nods, stirring the barley. 

"We probably won't stay long."  And there it is.  Stiles knew that Derek was not in it for the long term.  He is a bounty hunter, and Stiles is a mere bounty, fun for a little while, until he gets his money.

"Okay."  Stiles nods, not betraying his depreciative thoughts, he turns away from Derek and picks up a branch to poke the fire.  But Derek stops him and takes his chin in one of his large palms, forcing Stiles to meet his gaze.  Derek's face is unreadable, as he looks Stiles over, eyes bouncing over his features.  "I understand, alright?"  Stiles mutters, pushing out of Derek's grasp, making to stand and walk away from the older man, but Derek grabs his arm, stopping him.

"I'll visit you."

Stiles snorts.

"No you won't."

"I will."  Derek pulls him back down beside him.  "Look at me."  He urges, and Stiles turns to him with what feels like the beginning of tears.  He promised Isaac he wouldn't get attached, but it seems the warning was all for naught.  He's so in, he's practically balls deep.

"What do you want Derek?  I have shit to do."  It's true, he has to clean his wound and change the bandages.

"I'll help you, there are fresh bandages in the Camaro."  And that's the final straw.  Why the fuck does he have to be so nice?  It would've been better if Derek was a total asshole, but he isn't.  He just acts like one sometimes.  But the way he cares for Erica and Boyd, how he kept the rings when he could've trader the gold for profit, Derek is the furthest thing from an asshole, and it just makes everything that much worse.

"I don't want to see you again."  Stiles mutters and Derek drops his arm like it's on fire. 

"Oh."  He says, his expression shutting off.  "That's fine then."

"Don't misunderstand, I like you."  Stiles entreats.  "I just don't want to be the easy fuck you visit once a year.  I can't handle being _reduced_ to that.   Wondering if you're dead when you don't show up.  I can't wait for you."

Derek swallows, but he takes Stiles' hand in his, holding it tight.  "I understand."

"Good."  Stiles nods, even though he feels anything but good.

They reach Beacon Hills midmorning the next day, exactly when Derek estimated.  Stiles feels like squealing in happiness when he sees the familiar sandstone cliffs of his hometown slowly grow in size as they drive closer.

Stiles is twitching in excitement by the time he jumps out of the Jeep with his hands up.  The guard manning the cliffs is bound to recognize him, so this is for formalities sake, and so nobody accidentally gets shot.  Stiles knows everyone in town.  After all there are only about fifty people living here permanently.

Suddenly, the rusted metal gate slides open and a figure runs out.  Squinting against the sun, Stiles gasps when he spots Scott running towards him. 

 _Scott_ , who was tossed out of the Jeep when the raiders took Stiles.  _Scott_ , is best friend since he was in diapers.  He must have taken up a guard shift from Chris.  He's been drooling after Allison for so long, her dad is probably making him prove his worth.

"Stiles!"  Scott launches into his arms, and Stiles laughs, spinning him around, ignoring how much strain it places on his shoulder, because Scott's here, he's here, and everything's right in the world.  "You're alive."  Scott whispers happily.

Stiles squeezes Scott tighter, nuzzling into his neck smelling the familiar scent of animal his friend started carrying around when he began helping to care for the animals.  Scott may be taking guard shifts, but he could never give up his passion for husbandry.

Scott pulls away and just looks at him, tracing a cheekbone with a finger.  Stiles knows he's skinnier than before he was taken, but he didn't think it was that noticeable.  He glances over Scott in return, and gasps when he sees the tattoo of two black rings encircling his left arm.

"Whoa, I'm gone for six months, and you get over your fear of poky things?"

"Dude, I'm not the one who hates needles."  Scott says, before his expression goes grim.  "I got it for you and Heather."

Stiles smiles.  "How is Heather doing without little old me?"  Stiles laughs, but stops when Scott just frowns.  "Scott?"  

"Heather's dead, Stiles."

"What?"  How is that even possible?  When they were young Heather would never get sick, she was always the strongest out of the three of them.

"They killed her after they took you."  Scott's eyes grow glassy with tears.  "She drove after you when those fucks pulled me out of the Jeep.  But they blew up the sedan with her still inside."

"No."  Stiles' voice cracks on a sob.  "That's just like her, always wanting to be the hero."   

"Yeah."  Scott laughs wetly.  "Remember that time you fell down the well?  She wanted to go down and get you herself."

"All nine years and seventy pounds of her."  Stiles sniffs.

"C'mon."  Scott takes his hand, patting it in comfort.  "I'll take you to your dad."  He says before turning to Derek, all business, even if he's still holding Stiles' hand in his.  "Who are you?"

"Bounty hunters.  To our understanding, the Sheriff's offered a reward for his son's return."

"Yes, that's right.  Just drive through the gate, the Sheriff will want to see you too."  Derek nods before gently touching Stiles' arm.

"I'm sorry about you friend."  Derek says, and Stiles just closes his eyes, turning away from him, trying to stop the tears from spilling over.  He's cried so many buckets over the past six months, now, it's just a waste of water.

He expected to come home and be greeted by his whole family, but now he feels almost empty knowing he's never going to see Heather again, never watch her grow up, find the girl of her dreams and run the greenhouses like she always wanted to.  She's dead.  And that hurts more than the gunshot wound in his shoulder.

***

His dad pulls him into a vice tight hug, and only lets go when Stiles squeaks in pain.  "Ouch, dad, be careful with the goods."

"What happened?"  His dad questions, his voice gruff, looking Stiles over.

"Got shot."

"Dude, whoa."  Scott exclaims in awe.

"Who?"  His dad threatens in his Sheriff voice, and his eyes move over Stiles' shoulder, looking at Derek.

"Don't worry, Sir, I took care of them."  Derek says, darkly, and Stiles bets Derek's brows are furrowed, and his expression angry.  "They won't touch anyone ever again."  Derek promises, and his dad smiles closed mouthed, nodding at Derek.

"I'll have Glenn get your gold out of the vault tomorrow, but tonight, you're staying for dinner."  He pointedly stares at Derek, begging him to argue, but Derek just nods, and his dad spins back to Stiles.  "Melissa's making her famous sweet potato casserole."

Stiles frowns.  "I hope she's making sure you're eating right." 

"Don't worry, bro.  Nancy tells me every time he tries to buy curly fries from her stall, and I give him shit for it."  Scott grins.

"I am a grown ass man."  His dad harrumphs, and Stiles laughs.

"A grown ass man with high cholesterol."  Stiles points out.

Abruptly, the door to his dad's office bursts open as Melissa rushes through like a whirlwind, wrapping Stiles up in her warm arms.  Stiles watches in horror as Derek quickly draws his gun, and Stiles' eyes widen.  He shakes his head rapidly, wordlessly telling Derek that his best friend's mom is not a threat, and Derek puts the gun away, albeit reluctantly.

"Stiles, you're alive."

Stiles pats Melissa on the back.  "Funny enough, I've been getting that a lot today."  Stiles says and Scott snorts.  Melissa pulls out of Stiles' arms, and strangely, turns around to pull Derek into a long hug.  Derek appears confused and bewildered, and Stiles feels like giggling hysterically.  "Young man, you are having dinner with us tonight."

"Mom."  Scott rolls his eyes.  "He's already agreed to that."

"Fine.  Then you're staying with us."

"That's too much of an intrusion."  Derek raises his hands, palms up.  "We can stay elsewhere."

"Nonsense.  You returned Stiles back to us, the least we can do is offer you and your friends our hospitality."

Stiles doesn't know what makes him say it, it could be residual bitterness left over from when Derek said he's leaving him behind.  Stiles knows Derek brought him home expecting money.  He knows, and he's okay with it, but it doesn't stop the caustic words from leaving his mouth.

"He's already getting all our gold, you don't need to give him anything else."  Stiles spits out, and it's only because he's looking at Derek that he sees the man flinch and close off.  All of a sudden, Stiles wishes he could take back his words.  If anyone else noticed the bitterness tingeing his words, they say nothing.

Derek doesn't wait for him after his dad thanks him again, he just leaves to restock on water and fuel, and doesn't even bother to even glance once in Stiles' direction.

_Well, fuck._

***

"Stiles, pass the salt."  Scott says, snapping Stiles out of the funk he's in.  He's is ecstatically happy to be back with his family, but he's never going to see Derek again after tomorrow, and he doesn't want them to part on a bad note.

It's hard to apologize when Derek won't even sit near him, let along talk to him.

Erica and Boyd are stuffing their faces, and he can't blame them, Melissa's food is to die for, and considering they've all been living off of yucca and barley for the last few weeks, casserole is a pleasant departure. 

Stiles talked to Erica after Derek walked out on him in his dad's office, but she just patted him on the head, and said Derek would come around when he dislodged the stick from his ass, and when Stiles apologized.

But it seems like that's not going to happen.

Stiles pokes at his food, only eating about half of his meal.  He doesn't feel hungry anymore, in fact he feels almost sick.  He's ashamed of himself.  Derek probably thinks Stiles was only having sex with him just so Derek didn't collect the reward in turn.  But that wasn't the reason.  Derek earned that gold fair and square.  He risked life and limb driving Stiles across the country.  Derek paid for him when he was hurt, and he took care of Isaac too, even when Isaac wasn't worth any money.

Derek is good.  He may not think he is, going by the moniker he accepts with open arms.  But even coated in blood, and memories of the past, Derek is a good person.  He did not deserve those words.

Stiles excuses himself from the table.  When his dad asks him what's wrong, he claims exhaustion.  His dad sends him a worried look promising a long, dreaded talk come morning.

Walking to his bedroom, he lets himself into the room that used to be his refuge.  But now, when he gazes up at the walls, at the many useless knickknacks he used to collect, he feels like a stranger in a foreign land.

This is the room of a fidgety sixteen year old with too much time on his hand, and an insatiable curiosity.  Not the worn, world heavy seventeen year old he's become. 

He walks over to his dresser, pulling sheets out, intending to make his bed for the night, when the door cracks open and Derek peeks his head in.

"Hi."  Derek says.

"Hey."  Stiles answers, breathless.  "Are you looking for the bathroom?"  He'd hate it if Derek says yes.

Derek shakes his head, and comes inside, closing the door after him.  Stiles sighs in relief.  "I was actually hoping to talk to you."  Derek shoves his hands in his pockets.  It's a odd sight to see such a strong man with a combat knife and gun strapped to his thighs looking nervous, but Stiles has seen weirder things.

"I'm sorry."  He says at the exact moment Derek also apologizes. 

Stiles sighs, collapsing on his bed, raising a cloud of dust in its wake.  "I shouldn't have said those things to you.  Can we just call this what it is and move on?"

"What do you want to call this?"  Derek asks, sitting down beside him on the bed.

Stiles shrugs, playing with the seam of the sheets he's still holding in his arms. "Blowing off steam, or whatever."

Derek takes a deep breath.  "I know we never really discussed what we were doing together, and I'm sorry if I didn't make anything clear, but I like you Stiles.  I like you a lot.  And it scares me, I can't afford to feel this way about anyone."  Derek says, delicately wrapping his fingers around Stiles' wrist, pulling it into his lap.

"So this isn't just a..."  Stiles trails off as Derek shakes his head.

"Not to me, no."

"Oh." 

They sit in silence as Stiles ponders over Derek's words.  Derek likes him, but he won't let himself have him.  It's self sacrificing and fairly idiotic, and Stiles just doesn't understand.

"Why?"  He questions, trying to understand.

Derek sighs.  "You belong here, Stiles, and I'm not going to ask a seventeen year old who care barely protect himself to leave his family behind and come with me."

"You could always stay here, there's plenty of work to be found in Beacon Hills."

"I can't."  Derek says pained, but he doesn't explain himself further.

"Okay."  Stiles exhales heavily before getting up and nudging Derek off as he goes to make his bed.  "We have one last night together, make it count?"  Stiles tucks the sheet in, bounces down on the mattress,  and scoots up to the headboard, leaning against the cool metal.  Leaving it up to Derek if he wants to join him.

Derek appears torn, but he shakes his head, and Stiles tries not to feel disappointed, but it's an exercise in futility.

Derek is quick to reassure him.  "I'll come later, I just need to be in the guestroom before the Sheriff goes to sleep.  I don't want your dad to shoot me."  Stiles takes a breath of relief.

"I'll see you later then."  Stiles says and Derek smiles.  He bends down and cups Stiles' cheek in a big palm, before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

"Later."

***

Derek falls asleep after a long makeout session that ended with them frotting naked against each other until they come.  Stiles lies awake, Derek's arms wrapped tight around him as he stares up at the sandstone ceiling of his bedroom.

He's so used to sleeping on the cold metal of the Jeep and the lumpy mattress in the infirmary, he doesn't know how Derek is able to fall asleep so easily on a soft bed.  Stiles sighs, dislodging himself from Derek arms, grabbing the leather pouch from his duffle.  There's a place in Beacon Hills where Heather, Scott, and him would go to lay down on the battlements and look up at the stars.  He used to go there when his mother died to get some relief from his achingly depressed dad, and he hopes that the open air and light from the stars will help him sleep.

He slides out of his room, carefully shutting the door behind him, but when he turns the corner he startles.

Kate and Gerard Argent are in his living room.  Shocked, he opens his mouth to asks them what the fuck they're doing in his residence in the middle of the night, but Gerard's sweaty hand snaps up, clamping his mouth shut.  And Stiles absolutely knows, with dread building up in his belly, that coming home won't be the happy ever after he thought it would be.

Kate grabs his arms, wrestling them behind him, as she wraps coarse rope around his body restraining him in such a way, he feels the tension in his bad shoulder.  When Kate twists his arm in such a way his wound pulls, Gerard muffles his scream of pain, stuffing a dirty rag into his mouth.

"What the fuck are you doing?"  He hears Erica exclaim from behind him, but before she can do anything to help, Kate growls dropping his arm and a thud sounds, followed by the recognizable thwack of a crossbow.  Instead of it hitting dully into straw bags, he hears the sound of it releasing into flesh.

He screams around the gag, but any sound is muffled.  When he struggles to turn around and catch sight of Erica, all he sees is her still form, collapsed onto the ground, a halo of blonde hair surrounding her, a bolt protruding from her chest, before he is pulled away.

The Argents tug him out of his residence, pulling him through the corridors.  Whenever he struggles against his captives, Gerard pulls his arms back, making his shoulder burn in agony, tears rushing into his eyes.  He leans closer, whispering in Stiles' ear.  "If you don't shut the fuck up, and quit struggling, I'm going back to your home, and putting bolts into the people you call family."  He digs his thumb into Stiles' wound for emphasis, and Stiles feels it open again, bleeding sluggishly.

He allows himself to be dragged away, thinking of his dad, Scott, and all the others sleeping peacefully in the Stilinski residence, unaware of what's happening.  He thinks of Erica and the crossbow bolt that's probably bleeding her out, and tears form in his eyes, running unhindered down his cheeks, clouding his vision.

First Heather, and now Erica.  Stiles is not about to let anything else happen to the people he loves.

They take him down to the ground levels, and Gerard loads him into an ATV, tying his wrists to the roll bars, as Kate quickly cranks open the gate.

As they drive through, Stiles glances up to the battlements, hoping to see someone he trusts on guard, but the only one there is the Daehler kid resting his arms against the walls, he waves at Gerard, and Stiles feels his last bit of hope disappearing.

The ATV bumps as they drive out into the wasteland, the headlights lighting the way.  It's dark and Stiles is scared out of his mind, wondering what the Argents want with him.  Eventually, they slow to a stop, and Stiles is tugged off of the vehicle, rough fabric wrapped, tight around his eyes. 

He's pushed out on to the wasteland.  "Walk, kid."  Kate urges him.  "Come on, we haven't got all night."  Stiles starts walking in the direction they're leading him in, he stumbles on some grass, but Kate just sighs, and wraps her hand bruisingly around his forearm.

After what seems like an eternity, they stop, and all Stiles can hear and feel is the cold wind raising goose pimples on bare skin.  He breathes heavy when he feels Kate's hand drop as she speaks.  "We brought him, now what about our reward?"

Unexpectedly, a cold, dry finger touches his face almost reverently, and Stiles flinches away.  "Give them their reward."  A familiar voice answers.  A voice he'd recognize anywhere, cold as the hand it belongs to.  The sound of gunfire lights up the night with deadly life. 

"Fuck!  You promised gold for the boy!"  Kate screams, before she's cut off with a wet thud and gurgle, and Stiles knows she's dead.

"We don't reward gold to inferior filth."  The voice spits, and Stiles cowers, the last time he heard this Alpha speak was on the loud speakers as he performed the water ceremony the day Stiles escaped from the Colony. 

"Now,"  The Alpha purrs.  "Our property thought it could just leave us, hmm?"  The gag and blindfold are ripped violently from his face, and Stiles blinks, staring up into the smiling, lined face of the Alpha leader.  Suddenly, with only a small flare of nostrils signifying a change in mood, Stiles is backhanded across the face by the Alpha.  "Answer me!"   The man shouts, spittle flying onto Stiles' face and he flinches as the hand returns, but this time fingers trail softly over the mark the man's hand undoubtedly left behind.

Stiles nods quickly, not knowing what answer the Alpha wants, but he apparently gives the wrong one because the Alpha's fingers dig into his face and Stiles shrieks in pain as nails bit into his soft skin.  "I'm sorry."  He pleads, just wanting the hurt to stop.  Stiles knows he's bleeding through his shirt, he can feel the chilly air cooling down the blood on his shoulder.

"You are _ours_."  Stiles dips his head in acquiesce, but that isn't enough for the Alpha and he roars, "Say it!"

"I'm yours."  Stiles whimpers.

"Good."  The Alpha sniffs, looking him over.  "Put him in the cage."  He says to a talcum man before walking away to a caravan of cars, parked in a line.  Stiles recognizes another Alpha standing by, greeting the cold skinned one with a kiss to the cheek, before he's pushed away out of sight.

A talcum man, splattered with what must be the Argent's blood, steps up to him and quickly snaps a heavy, rusting collar around his neck.  Stiles can hardly breathe, it's so tight.  The man unties the rope around Stiles' arms and attaches a long metal chain to the collar instead. 

Roughly tugging on the chain, the talcum man leads Stiles away, choking and sputtering, to a truck with a metal, windowless box in the back.  Quickly opening the box, the man shoves Stiles into it, shutting the door with a slam, but cracking open a small window the size of a paperback so that Stiles can at least breathe.  The box is small.  He can only fit comfortably if he sits cross-legged, but yet his head still touches the ceiling. 

Stiles leans against the cold steel wall, tears falling from his eyes when he feels the rumble of the truck's engine start up.  He laughs depressingly when he hears the same awful song about flies and white guys that blasted along that empty stretch of highway. 

It was the Alphas, they were there broadcasting the shitty music.  They were right behind them the whole time. 

Stiles knows no one's coming for him, and the Alphas are unlikely to award him the freedom he was allotted before he escaped.  Stiles is all too likely to remain forever in this box until the Alphas drag him out for whatever they were going to do to Isaac when they locked him in that cage. 

He's absolutely fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to think of the most horrible song I have ever heard, and all I could think of is The Offspring's Pretty Fly for a White Guy. And now it's the talcum men's anthem, it's strangely perfect for them.
> 
> I don't recommend smoking wormwood, the info the internet provides is scattered and fairly unreliable, some people say it helps with pain, others say it causes hallucinations, and others say it'll kill you dead. So just don't, unless of course you've read a published scientific journal that documents the positive effects of smoking the stuff, and in that case, send me a link.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is days late, I was originally going to post chapter 8 and 9 together, but I'm still futzing around with the art for 9. It's gonna be awesome! I borrowed a friend's tablet, and lemme tell you, pressure sensitivity is as smexy as it sounds ;) 
> 
> So, 9 will be up tomorrow. Until then, enjoy :)

 

Derek shoots awake to a shrill scream sounding from outside Stiles' room.  Years of being interrupted by raiders in his sleep have him scrambling up out of bed, and mechanically grabbing his gun from the bedside table. 

Running out into the hallway, he finds Melissa, kneeling with her hands pressed against Erica's torso, trying to stanch the bleeding from what looks like a crossbow bolt buried in her chest.  Derek stumbles in shock, nearly dropping his gun.

"The fuck?"  Derek exclaims.  He doesn't put the gun down, for all he knows, Melissa's the one that shot Erica, pulling a farce to lower his guard.  Except the woman barely looks at him, she's so focused on saving Erica's life.

Derek gives her the benefit of the doubt and tucks his gun away in its holster.  It's a fast enough draw so even if the woman does try something, Derek will be able to reach for his gun quickly enough to incapacitate her.  If he even needs it, given Melissa's small stature.

"Baby?"  Boyd's voice echoes in the dimly lit hallway.  Quick as a whistle, Derek spins, grabbing at Boyd's arms, forcing him to look away from Erica's still form, her blonde hair glowing like a halo in the dark.  It takes everything in Derek to not project his frustration and anger out on something when he sees Boyd's eyes, wide and shell shocked. 

First it was Stiles and now it's Erica.  His crew had not dealt with incapacitating wounds in at least a year, now they're happening within weeks of each other.  Bringing Stiles back home has turned out to be a dangerous affair, yet one Derek wouldn't change for the world.  He shudders to think of what would've happened to the boy if he remained in the Colony.

"Boyd, she's alive.  She's still bleeding, she's alive."  Derek tries to calm Boyd as he moves to Erica's form, collapsing on his knees by her side.  He gently touches her hair, like even running his fingers through her locks would break her even more.

"What happened?"  He asks Melissa softly.  She's performing first aid, slowly but surely wrapping in the wound with a torn outer shirt, securing the bolt so it doesn't shift and tear open the wound.

"I got up to use the bathroom and found her like this, she must've been here at least half an hour.   Whoever did this didn't hit any important veins, so thankfully she's not bleeding out.  I don't even know why she's unconscious, and I can't break the bolt.  It's metal, so you'll just have to be careful when you carry her down to the infirmary.  I've done all I can."

The door to Melissa's room opens and a bleary eyed Sheriff steps out, drawn by raised, panicked voice, and Melissa's soothing reassurances. "Sonofabitch."  The man breathes in shock.

"John, get Scott up, he needs to run to Deaton's."

The Sheriff quickly crosses the hallway, banging on the door to Scott's room.  Rubbing sleep from his eyes, the Sheriff's hair sticks up in all directions just like Stiles' before Derek cut his hair to a buzz.  "Where's Stiles?" 

At the Sheriff's inquiry, Derek feels himself go numb.  He's so unused to sleeping beside a comforting body, he'd fallen asleep within moments after he had sex with Stiles, his warmth and their tangled limps making him feel things he once refused to allow himself.  Stiles just made it so easy. 

It was this same unfamiliarity that made him forget Stiles should've been snoring, tucked into bed beside him. 

A chill runs down his spine, could Stiles have done this?  Shoot Erica in cold blood, and leave her to bleed out on the floor of his childhood home?

No fucking way.  Even the thought is ridiculous.  Stiles is still too injured to hold a crossbow, bracing it would aggravate his shoulder.   Besides, Derek knows Stiles would never do anything to hurt Erica.

"I don't know, he wasn't in bed when I woke up."  Derek locks eyes with the Sheriff, waiting for the fallout, the yelling and screaming, the interrogation.  But they don't come.  The older man just runs a hand through salt and pepper hair, shaking his head, before cracking open Scott's room.  Evidently the boy can sleep though a loud crisis.

Once Scott is awake, he's off running to the other end of Beacon Hills' residential area going to wake up the doctor, and Boyd carefully picks up Erica, placing her in a nearby hand drawn cart.  They line it with a bed sheet, keeping the wound as clean as possible, as they carefully, yet quickly,  roll her down to the infirmary.  Curious people poke their noses out of doors as they pass, drawn by the commotion. 

The sun rises, casting a soft orange glow through the numerous openings in the sandstone.  It makes the blood staining the white sheets all the more concrete.

Derek hopes Stiles is safe.

Rushing through the corridors, the Sheriff pulls up in step to his side.  "Stiles has a place he likes to go when he can't sleep."  The Sheriff states, as they trail after a frantic Boyd pulling the cart.  "That's probably why he wasn't there when you woke up."

"Maybe."  Derek says, unconvinced.  He cannot help but notice the Sheriff's twitching hands, and furrowed brow, so alike his son. 

He is worried for Stiles, and it makes sense.  Six months ago his son was taken from him right under the noses of his two best friends, one of whom was killed in the process.  It's a wonder the Sheriff isn't panicking more. 

But Derek can't delude himself, thinking Stiles is simply sleeping somewhere else.  There's something brewing inside Derek's gut, this feeling he has, that just _knows_.  Stiles' disappearance and Erica's injury are interrelated in some way.  In a way that's sure to turn out shitty for everyone involved.

But Erica's still bleeding out, and at the moment, that's what Derek has to focus on.  That, and whomever shot her.  Someone had to do it, she sure as fuck didn't shoot herself.  Derek's left with a massive list of suspects; basically the entirety of Beacon Hills.  Crossbow training is mandatory for permanent residents.  They have a large supply of the weapons, and it's easier to make a bolt than trade for the gunpowder needed for bullets. 

Boyd pushes through the doors of the infirmary.  Deaton's already there, scrubbed in, a wide eyed Scott standing by his side, still panting from running across town.

Erica's carefully placed on a bed, and Melissa sets to work, cutting off her shirt, while Deaton readies his surgical instruments.  He takes one long look at Erica, studying the bolt, before leaving it alone, instead moving to her head.  Shifting aside her blond hair, he searches her scalp for something.  Evidently, he finds what he's looking for, because he sighs.

"Blunt force trauma to the head."  He tells their group, and Melissa nods as she carefully cuts cotton away from the bolt.  That's why Erica was unconscious, despite the meager amount of blood she lost.  "There are lacerations to the scalp from what I assume to be a crossbow tiller."

"What about the bolt sticking out of her _chest_?"  Boyd raises his voice, his hands clenched in fists.  He's standing a few beds away from Erica, hunched over, and shaking.  Derek knows it's taking everything in him to not rush over to Erica, push Deaton aside, and take care of her himself.

The doctor prods at the wound, before picking up a scalpel, and cutting the skin in circumference around, allowing him to shift the bolt, and look inside.

"It's superficial,"  He states, probing at raw flesh.  "She's likely not even in much pain. 

"But will she be okay?"  Derek asks

"She'll be fine."  Deaton says, and Derek lets out a breath of relief.  "I'll remove the bolt, and she'll heal up just fine."  Derek grabs Boyd's shoulder in comfort when he lets out a sob of relief.  Boyd doesn't even notice him, he's so focused on Erica.  She's everything to him, every since they were children.  They've been through hell together, and honestly, Derek cannot imagine one without the other.

Melissa's head darts up, and her eyes meet the Sheriff's wide ones as an unholy scream echoes through the halls, followed by the clanging of brass bells, powerful and steady. 

"Shit."  The Sheriff breathes, and quickly whips around running out of the infirmary like the devil himself is on his heels.  Derek casts one last look at Erica: Deaton and Melissa working diligently to keep her alive, before taking after him.  He'll curse himself dead if something happens to Erica while he's gone.  While Deaton says she'll be fine, there's one thing Derek knows, and it's that anything can happen. 

Nevertheless, Stiles is missing and maybe those bells have something to do with the empty bed he woke up to in the morning.  The Sheriff seems to find it important enough to warrant running off without a word.

Derek follows the Sheriff through the gaggles of panicking people rushing through the corridors.  The bell must act as a warning system.  But warning for what?  The ground slopes up as Derek runs, making his way up to the higher levels. 

He catches up to the Sheriff just as he pushes his way through heavy steel doors into blinding light.  The early morning sun rises in the distance, bathing the wasteland and scattered vegetation.

They're on the battlements, a ledge cut into the sandstone walls, acting as a place for guards to keep a diligent look out for threats. 

A tall black-haired girl stands at attention by the door, obviously waiting for the Sheriff.  She's wearing an expression of horror, clutching a compound bow in her right hand, fingers white around the grip.  Her brow furrows when she sees him, but she doesn't comment.

"Allison, what did you see?"  The Sheriff asks, trying not the spook the already terrified girl.  Allison points a shaking finger down to one of the massive stone boulders hiding the main gate separating Beacon Hills from the wasteland.  Derek moves over to the sandstone edge and peers over.  A cool breeze rustles his hair, and what he sees almost makes his hardened stomach sick.

Blood and gore.

"Fucking hell."  Derek exclaims, and beside him the Sheriff echoes the same sentiment.  He looks away while Derek continues to study the massacre.  Fear for a missing Stiles roaring like hellfire in his heart, he's terrified he'll see familiar mole spotted flesh, coated in cooling blood.  

Body parts, are scattered all over the sand.  Derek spots two caved in heads; faces and hair colour unrecognizable, a plethora of limbs, with sharp lacerations so deep bone is visible.  The quartered bodies are absolutely _drenched_ in the blood.  A single letter, still dripping wet and red, sits written on stone.  It's a _B_ , but with the tail of a _P,_ a symbol Derek's never seen before.

Allison swallows, breaking the shocked silence.  "It's aunt Kate." 

"How do you know?"  The Sheriff questions.

"That's her jacket."  Allison points to a shredded piece of grey suede sitting amongst the flesh, coated in gore.

Another body is down there, but it can't be Stiles.  The flesh is too wrinkled, too tanned, and Derek lets out a sharp relieved breath.  Stiles is missing, but at least he's not dead.

"What happened?"  The Sheriff breathes.

That's what Derek wants to knows.

"It was like this when I came to switch shifts with Matt, except he wasn't here.  Matt _should've_ been here.  If he was here, Kate..."  Allison trails off, wide eyed, and the Sheriff grips her by the shoulder in comfort.

"Call a town meeting."  He says and Allison nods, resolutely wiping away her tears.  She grabs the bell's rope, pulling two times, pausing, then another two times, sending a signal out to the town.

There's a small chance Stiles is still safe, sleeping like a baby somewhere else, and maybe he'll show up to the town meeting, well rested, hair pressed flat.  Derek will grab him, and hold him close, unlikely to ever let go again.

It's a long shot, but he can dream.

***

The whole of Beacon Hills assembles in the main courtyard; a massive gathering space with enough space to hold the near four dozen inhabitants with room to spare.  The Sheriff stands on a raised platform, explaining the situation.  Informing the town about the bodies in the most non-descriptive way possible.  Derek quickly scans through the crowd, but Stiles is nowhere to be found.

It's right then he knows for sure.  Something has gone terribly wrong.  Erica was shot and Stiles is gone.  But why?  Who in town would stand to gain?    Beacon Hills is a small, self sustaining community, its small military force only exists to protect its own walls.  The murders, and Stiles' disappearance are anomalies. 

And what the fuck is that symbol painted on the rock in blood?

It's something foreign to the Westernlands.  Derek grew up only a few hundred miles away from Beacon Hills.  His family dealt with a plethora of traders, and he'd never once seen that symbol on any shipments delivered to them.  The only way they'll figure out who killed those people is if they discover the clan linked to that symbol.

The Sheriff confirms Kate Argent as the first victim.  Derek only met the woman once, but he's glad he'll never have to again.  Insanity is not only endemic to the wasteland, it lives amongst good people in peaceful towns.

Kate Argent was a violent woman.  He could see it in her eyes, when she came up to him in the Beacon Hills tavern the first time he rode into town.  She had slinked up to him, flicking a balisong distractedly, her eyes fixed upon him.  She threatened him, and when an unruffled Derek ignored her, she proceeded to proposition him.  Promising vague notions that were not hers to give, if he would give her one night in bed.  Derek had denied her.  Insanity should never be played with.

"Kate wasn't the only victim, an unidentified older man was also killed."  The Sheriff announces.

"I haven't seen Gerard!"  A woman calls out, and a murmur runs through the crowd.

"What about your son, Stilinski?"  A bespeckled man steps forward, arms haughtily crossed in front of his chest.

"Harris."  The Sheriff says the man's name with an almost visible hint of disdain in his voice.  "What about my son?"  He questions, hands clenched in fists at his side.  Derek's standing behind him and he can practically feel the tension running off his body.  The Sheriff does not like this man. 

Harris stands tall and sure like everyone else is beneath him, acting like he knows everything.  Derek echoes the Sheriff's sentiment.  He too doesn't like this man.

"He's not here.  I'm not saying that's a sign of guilt, but why would Miss Argent leave the town?  She knows it's dangerous out there at night."

The Sheriffs growls.  "What are you saying?  That my son had something to do with this, this _murder_?"

"You know _exactly_ what I mean."  Harris' eyes narrow, and he points his finger in accusation.  "He was gone six months.  They must've converted him, turned him into one of them during that time, after all Genim was never the smartest apple in the bushel."

" _Excuse me_?"  When he makes to step forward, Derek grabs the snarling Sheriff by the shoulder, it would not do them any good to start a riot. 

Harris continues even though he's only a hand's grip away from getting sacked in the groin.  "Your son probably returned so his raider friends could come take all our water after he kills our best warriors."

"Fuck you, Harris."  The Sheriff spits out.  "My son would never-"

"Prove it then.  Where is the boy?  Bring him forth, and make him state his alibi, prove that he has nothing to do with this."

"Stiles is seventeen, only a teenager, and he's missing.  Yet you're accusing him of murder!"  The Sheriff shouts, incredulous.

Harris scoffs.  "I thought so.  Excuses.  You've always relied on excuses, haven't you, Stilinski?"  Harris spits into the dust before the Sheriff's feet, and an outcry sounds throughout the courtyard.  Harris turns around speaking to the gathering of people.  "We have a traitor in our midst, Ladies and Gentlemen.  Are we just going to-" 

"Shut it, Harris.  No one is interested in what you say, it's a wonder you haven't been fired yet.  I still can't believe my predecessor put you in charge of molding the minds of young children."  An imposing woman walks up to the stage, and Harris glares at her, but shuts his mouth regardless.  "Nothing more to say?  Good."  She moves to stand beside the Sheriff who sighs in relief.

"Mayor Noshiko, thank heavens."

"What's going on, John?"

"Kate and Gerard are dead."  The Sheriff swallows.  "And my son is missing.  Again."

Noshiko nods, before turning to face the buzzing crowd.  "People of Beacon Hills, if anyone has any information regarding the Argent's whereabouts from dusk until dawn today, speak up."

A matronly woman rocking a crying baby in her arms says, "I saw Matt Daehler talking to Gerard before he went on guard shift." 

"Thank you Elvie.  Did you hear what they were discussing?"

Elvie rocks her baby, giving it her thumb to suck, and the child calms.  "They were acting awfully suspicious, but I wasn't close enough to overhear them.  Matt appeared very nervous, he kept looking around, but when Gerard slapped him upside the head, he stopped."

"I saw Kate."  A middle aged man speaks up.  "She had her crossbow with her, but I thought nothing of it, she's always carrying something deadly around, the crazy bitch."

"Rhys."  Elvie says, shocked.  "There are children present."

Rhys snorts, picking his nose and flicking it away, to Derek's disgust.  "Don't be insipid, old girl, the kids are gonna have hear it sometime."

"When did you see Kate?"  Noshiko questions, her brow furrowed.

Rhys shrugs.  "Eh, sun was setting, I don't know the exact time.  But seriously, I don't know why you people are bothering investigating, she dead, and now I don't have to worry about her shooting bolts at my ATV for _fun_.  She was supposed to protecting us, but she was just a menace.  I say good-fucking-riddance."

"Kate may not have been the most relatable of characters, but she was still a fellow citizen and we owe it to her to find out what happened."  Noshiko doesn't bother to mention that there's a vicious killer on the loose, and Derek figures that's her way of keeping people calm.  You tell someone that the body parts of their neighbours are chopped into chunks only a hundred feet away from them, they're bound to panic.

"What about Daehler, he isn't, you know,"  Elvie, whispers, moving her eyebrows in the direction of the gate.  "Dead."

"Well he ain't here."  Rhys crosses his arms.

"That's because he was in his room packing his bags."  Allison calls out from the back of the crowd.  She cuts an imposing figure as she marches forward, pulling a boy about her age along by his shirt, a long curved knife in her other hand.  The crowd parts to let her through, as she tosses the boy down in front of the Sheriff.  "Now tell them what you told me."  She snarls, harshly placing her knife against Matt's throat.

"I'm sorry, please!"  The boy howls shrilly, and Derek wonders what Allison did to him to make him fear her so much, maybe threaten to cut off a few fingers?  Or perhaps something more important?  Matt is absolutely quaking in his boots in front of her.

"Tell them."  Allison threatens, pressing the knife harder, drawing a drop of blood and Matt shrieks, spewing out information as fast as he can speak.

"There was a bounty on Stiles' head, enough gold to put Beacon Hills back on the map."  Matt sputters.  Gerard got in contact with the men offering the bounty.  I was just supposed to keep watch, make sure no one sees them take Stiles out into the wasteland at night."  Derek clutches his hands into fists at his side as fear for Stiles runs coldly through his veins. "But these men covered in chalk dust, brought Kate and Gerard's bodies back.  And they just started _hacking_ them to bits, and I had to run away.  I just couldn't look any longer."

Derek's nails dig into his palms, biting into callused flesh.  Stiles is back with the Alphas.  Derek managed to get him away only for him to be taken back into the Alpha clutches.  This time they're surely not about to allot Stiles the same amount of _freedom_ as before. 

Red tints his vision as he brings up the memory of Stiles' soft lips.  The witty observations Derek once found annoying but grew to appreciate sit forefront in his thoughts.  The ghost of Stiles' long fingers combing through his hair, making his chest feel tight. 

Stiles was supposed to be safe in Beacon Hills.  Derek was going to leave him in his hometown, with his father.  Stiles was supposed to forget about Derek, and live his life to the fullest.  Derek doesn't deserve him, he would just bring death and destruction down upon Stiles, but it turns out Stiles didn't even need Derek for that, it happened to him regardless.

Allison pushes Matt aside in disgust, and the boy sprawls into the dust, sobbing.  A shallow line of red decorates his throat, but Derek cannot find it in him to be sympathetic.    

Gone is air of mourning from Allison's expression.  Now, she bears the face of a girl betrayed by her kin.  Her lips are twisted in despair, yet her countenance betrays what she truly feels: resentment. 

When Peter murdered Laura in cold blood Derek felt the anger lying heavy on his shoulders.  Treachery does that to a person.

"Where is my son?"  The Sheriff demands, pushing Allison aside, as he marches over to Matt.  The boy tries to scramble away, but the Sheriff is faster.  He picks Matt up by his collar, shaking him.  Matt whimpers in fear, but no one moves to help him.  Derek is solely tempted to aid the Sheriff.  "Where is he?"  He shouts, and Matt just curls in on himself, shaking like a leaf.

It was the Alphas that stoles Stiles away, so they must be taking him back to their most secured fortress.

"The Colony."  Derek whispers, and the Sheriff turns to face him, despair and anger waging for dominance on his features.  He looks exactly like a man who lost his child and found him six months later.  Only to lose him again in a day's time. 

For this man's sake and Derek's own, he's going to bring Stiles back home.  

"They're taking him to the Colony."

***

"I'm coming with you."  Scott slides down onto the cot beside Derek while he watches Boyd gently stoking Erica's hair away from her face a few beds down.  She's still unconscious, but stable.  Deaton removed the bolt from her chest only minutes after Derek ran after the Sheriff.

Derek scoffs.  "No you're not."

"Hear me out."  Scott argues, and Derek raises a brow.  "Your partners are staying here, and you can't cross the wasteland by yourself."

"I've done it before."  Back when he just lost Laura, a few weeks before he met his future partners wandering along the highway.  Derek used to sneak into raiders camps and steal supplies.  Bounty hunting came later when the three of them needed a sustainable income involving less sneaking.  Erica may be small, but she makes a terrible thief. 

The first time she was shot they were in the middle of stealing food.  Erica had tangled her feet in sagebrush, falling down, and alerting a whole camp of raiders.  If Boyd wasn't on standby, and if they hadn't already slashed the raider's tires, they would have been dead. 

The only person more clumsy than Erica is Stiles.  Derek's seen him trip on plain air.  The moment would've been funny if he hadn't cracked his chin against a rock in the process.

But give Erica a gun, and she could take care of a whole platoon of raiders all by herself. 

Derek doesn't want to go without backup, but to drag around a teenager...  It just seems like an impractical decision.

"Not in this state you haven't."  Derek sighs at Scott's words, running a hand through his hair.  Yes, he's been a bit intense the past half hour, packing his bags in record time, and buying a large amount of water and oil.  The only thing stopping him from leaving is Erica's impending awakening.  Deaton claims she's bound to regain consciousness at any second.  Derek will say his goodbyes, and pack everything into the raider modified Jeep.  Hopefully it'll blend in better than the Camaro, making it easier to sneak up on the Alphas.

They only have a few hours start on him, and Derek knows his way across the wasteland like the back of his hand.  If he leaves in a few hours he should be able to cut them off a few dozen miles east of the Martin post.  After that, well, that's what his other purchase is for. 

Explosives.

He bought the Argent's entire stock from Allison's cane wielding father.  A small amount, yet enough to blow the Alphas to high heaven and back.  Derek intends to make sure that this time, when he brings Stiles home, no one's going take him again.

"Dude, you're a mess.  You probably can't even drive straight."

Derek glares, but the boy remains oblivious to his displeasure.  "Don't call me dude."

"I'm coming with you, and that's final."  Scott crosses his arms like a petulant child. 

"You'll just get in my way."

"Stiles is my friend."

"You're going to get yourself killed."

"I can take care of myself." 

Derek sighs, aggravated with Scott's persistence.  "Stiles told me about you."  He says and Scott smiles fondly, obviously recalling memories from the past.  "He told me an interesting story.  How your friend Heather took care of bullies for you, because you didn't want to hit them.  So tell me, Scott, how does a pacifist expect to kill a man?  Because if you decide to come with me, it's either kill or be killed with these people.  There's no diplomatic middle ground."

Scott laughs, dark and humorlessly.  "Stiles has been gone six months.  I've changed a fucking lot in that time.  As it turns out, watching my best friend die when the raiders that kidnapped my other best friend, fired a RPG into her car inspires great motivation to get stronger.  I abandoned my _pacifist_ tendencies, as you call them, a long time ago.  This world is bloody fucking hell, and Stiles is one of the only good things I have left in it.  I will do whatever it takes to get him home."

Scott appears resolute and determined, like if Derek even tried to deny him again, he'd just steal a car, drive off, and try to find Stiles on his own.

"Fine."  Derek relents, poking at Scott's chest.  "But you're driving."  Derek still has trouble maneuvering the Jeep.

"Allison's coming too."

"What?"  Derek growls.

"She can hit a moving target from two hundred yards with her compound bow.  Plus she's great at hand to hand, she can take me to the ground in only a few seconds."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"If you need a low key sniper, she's the one for the job."

Derek sighs.  "This isn't a game, Scott.  I have no idea what they're even doing to Stiles, okay?  This is not a road trip." 

Scott looks at him solemnly.  "I'm aware, Derek."

"Good."

"Derek, she's awake."  Boyd calls out.  Derek sends one last look at Scott, trying to emphasize his point, before pushing to his feet, and walking over to Erica's cot.

"Hey."  He says, looking down at Erica as she squints back up at him, and Boyd holds her hand, rubbing circles into her skin.  "How are you feeling."  Honestly, she looks more drunk than concussed, but that's just Derek unprofessional medical opinion.

"Like someone hit me with an car then thought it would be funny to play roaring techno while I lay knocked out on a filthy floor."  Erica slurs.  "Peachy keen, basically."

Derek snorts.  Erica will be Erica.  The last time she was shot, she thought it would be appropriate to sing a love song to the surgeon stitching her up while drinking whiskey.  Boyd had thought it was funny, but the doctor didn't know that, and he kept glancing nervously at Boyd, just waiting for him to snap and break his limbs for flirting with his de facto wife. 

"Stiles."  Erica says suddenly, her eyes widening.  "Where is Stiles?"  When no one answers her, she makes to sit up, but winces, and Boyd gently pushes her back into the mattress. 

"Did you see what happened?"  Scott asks and Derek startles, seems Stiles' best friend is very light on his feet. 

Boyd glares, but Scott ignores the dirty look shot in his direction.  "You were shot in the front, you must've seen who did it." 

Erica purses her lips.  "An older man, and a woman with dirty-blonde hair, they were tying up Stiles.  I saw them when I got up to get some water.  Where is he?"  She asks again.

"The Alphas took him."

"Shit.  Where?"

"The Colony."  Derek says and Erica inhales sharply.

"Then why the fuck are you still here?  Go get our boy back."  Erica exclaims.  "I've seen the way you look at him, Derek.  How the fuck are you not a rampaging beast right now?"

Derek presses a smiling kiss to her forehead.  "Impulse control, Erica.  I'm leaving now, I just wanted to say goodbye to you and Boyd."

"Say goodbye?  Boyd..."

"Boyd's staying with you, I've already talked to him."  Derek interupts.

"Why isn't he coming with you?"  Erica stares up at her husband, but he refuses to meet her gaze.

"Don't be naive, you know why."

Erica's eyes narrow.  "Boyd?"  She tightens her hand around Boyd's, trying to make him look at her, but he doesn't, and Derek watches his eyes fill with tears.  Boyd hardly ever cries in front of people, he's always said bashing heads makes him feel better than letting his emotions control his tear ducts.

Derek takes pity on him.  "You could've died, let him be."

Erica throws her arms up in the air, seemingly frustrated.  "But that's the thing.  Death is always a possibility, that's just a reality of living on this wasteland.  Death is familiar to us, you know as well as I do."

Derek crosses his arms.  "I don't want him on this operation."

Erica stares at him in shock.  " _Excuse me_?  We are supposed to rely on each other, Derek.  That's how this partnership is supposed to work.  How can we have each other's back if we don't even do that?"

"I'm not in a position to help him, love."  Boyd says sadly, and Erica turns to her husband, questioning. 

"Why?"

"Because you're here, and that's all I'll be able to think of.  Erica, I could've _lost you_.  We've spent twenty five years of our lives together.  We're so codependent I couldn't-"  Boyd sighs, at Erica's horrified expression.  "I wouldn't know what to do without you.  I won't be of any use to Derek.  How would my loss make you feel?" 

"And I understand."  Derek adds.

"Because of Stiles?"

Derek pats her hand.  "Because of Stiles, and well, because of you two.  I haven't seen two people more in love since my uncle and his wife, but I was only a child then, I didn't truly understand."

"And now you do?"

"Yes, very much so."

Erica slumps back onto the cot.  "Bring him back Derek.  For his sake and for everyone who loves him.  Including you."

"I will."

***

Derek wipes the sweat from his brow as he loads a full barrel of gasoline into the back of the Jeep.  Making sure to tuck the crate of explosives as far away as possible from the gasoline, he straps down the barrel securely.  Allison's sitting in the back, and it'll do no one any good if she's crushed by their fuel supply.

"Thanks for letting me come."  Allison walks up to the Jeep, a duffle and compound bow slung over her shoulder.  She's the picture of preparation, wearing a leather jacket, and scarf for protection against blowing sands.  Allison's experienced.  Before settling down in Beacon Hills, she used to frequently travel across the wasteland with her weapons dealing family.

Scott, on the other hand.  Derek had to ask him to change.  He packed for comfort not function.  Scott would've burned red under the wasteland's sun wearing the tank he showed up wearing.  If it wasn't for Scott's determination and the Sheriff's guarantee, he would have stayed behind.

As it is, Derek would've preferred the Sheriff to come, but the man has duties.  Being the Sheriff of a town constantly threatened by raiders is tough.  He can't help Stiles without putting the whole town in danger.  They need him, more than his son does.  And isn't that the unfortunate truth.

"This isn't your way of atoning for your family's actions, is it?"  Derek asks.  Stiles' abduction isn't her fault.  Derek doesn't want Allison's sense of honor getting her killed.

A haunted look passes through Allison's eyes.  "Somewhat."  She says, placing her things into the Jeep.  "But Stiles is also my friend.  I may not have known him as long as Scott has, but when my family settled down in Beacon Hills, he welcomed me with open arms.  Not out of duty as the Sheriff's son, but because he wanted to be my friend.  I care about him."

Derek hums in agreement.  Stiles has charisma, it's just one of the many things about the boy drawing him in.  He inspires loyalty in people.  Derek watched the way he cared for Isaac.  Wrapping himself around the other boy as they slept, protecting him from cold nights, and less tangible nightmares.

Stiles is strong.  When the raider held a gun to his head, he was scared, and yet, he was willing sacrificed himself to save Isaac.

He is so very brave, and Derek is so very in love with him.

He loves him the same way he loves Erica and Boyd, with fondness and familiarity, but different.  He wants to hold Stiles close.  He wants to protect him, and he wants Stiles to protect him in return.  One night of sex and then no contact ever again is not enough for Derek.  He needs Stiles; his laugh, his smile, his honeyed eyes, his soft lips, his pale skin.

Derek fears settling down.  A massive fire still burns in his memories, the stench of burned flesh high on the wind.  But he's willing to try for Stiles.  Derek could stay in Beacon Hills, and maybe Erica and Boyd would decide to remain with him.  He knows animal husbandry like the back of his hand.  He could care for the rather large flock of animals owned collectively by the town.  Erica could take a trader job, running shipments across the wasteland, and Boyd would help her.

It's almost scary how easily he can picture living this life with Stiles in Beacon Hills.

All he knows is he's never leaving Stiles again, and until the boy gets sick of him and kicks him out, Derek will stay by his side.  But while dreams are all well and good, Derek still needs to find him.

Easy enough in theory.

As he cracks open the passenger door, the Sheriff appears.  Jogging up to the Jeep, he waves a small book in his hand.  "Derek!"  He calls out.  "Here."  The Sheriff hands the book over.

"What is this?"  Derek looks at the leather cover, but the tome has no markings on it.  Instead, the Sheriff flips open the book to a dog eared page, and points.  There, amongst the rest of the Greek alphabet, is the symbol painting on the boulder in Argent blood: the letter beta.  "What does it mean?"  Derek murmurs, reading over the description.

"Second.  It means second."

Derek knits his brow.  "But why use that symbol?"

"I figure it's an insult."  The Sheriff explains.  "You say these people call themselves the Alphas, right?  So maybe they see everyone else as inferior, as secondary, and this is their way of insulting Gerard and Kate.  Perhaps they hate traitors."

"Hmm."  Derek scans over the alphabet, from alpha to omega.  He traces his finger over the horseshoe shape of the uppercase omega.

"The alpha and the omega, the first and the last."  The Sheriff quotes, and at Derek's confused expression he explains further.  "It's from a ancient religion, one that died out long ago."

"Oh."  Derek says, and makes to hand the book back, but the Sheriff pushes it back into his hands.

"Keep it, Greek history's always interesting to read on long car rides."

Derek smiles, grabbing the Sheriff's shoulder in reassurance before climbing up into the Jeep.

"Ready to go?"  Scott asks as he turns on the engine.  Allison sits in the back, expertly attaching fletching to her arrows.

"Yeah."  He touches his hand to the gun strapped to his thigh.  He's ready.

***

Scott's looking at him weirdly.  He keeps sending these glances over, and they're wigging him out.

"What are you looking at?"  Derek asks, annoyed.  He throws his cotton cloth at the dash where it lands with a flutter.  At least Scott is driving properly.  They haven't dipped into any pot holes just yet, but with the many looks Scott keeps sending his way, it's bound to happen sooner or later.

"Do you really have to do that now?"

"Do what?"

"That?"

"Be more specific."  Derek growls, frustrated at Scott for beating around the bush.

 

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/120121954007/art-for-chapter-eight-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

"Dude, you're cleaning your gun in vaguely threatening manner, can you stop?"

"I'm not."

"You are."  Allison agrees, peeping around from the back, adding her own two dice to the conversation.

"You have this really intense expression on, like you're going to shoot me when you finish."

"I might just if you don't shut it."  Derek grins, showing his teeth.  Scott eeps and turns away, and Derek gets down to business.  He releases the barrel, placing it down on his lap.  Making sure he doesn't lose the spring, he pulls the slide out.  He can get a little intense when he cleans his weapons, removing the inevitable sand that just happens to somehow get into everything.

He remembers when Peter taught him how to clean his handgun.  Sitting him in the backseat on the Camaro, telling him to clean off excess grease and dirt while Laura drove.  Once, Peter had smacked him upside the head for forgetting to check the chamber after removing the magazine.  Lo and behold there was a bullet inside.  From then on, thoroughly checking and cleaning his weapons has become something like second nature to him.

And if it happens to make him intense, well, better safe than sorry.

When the Desert Eagle is tucked safely away in its holster, and Scott stops sending him worried looks.  Derek pulls out the tome the Sheriff gave him.  While the cover doesn't bear a title, there is a table of contents.  Derek flips to _The Iliad_ and begins reading, only glancing up every so often to send Scott directions.  Derek dives headfirst into the tale about childishly vindictive gods, and bloody death, all the while wondering why violence is such a universal truth.

***

They're close, only a mile or so away from the Alpha's caravan as they set up for night.  Bright halogen lights draw them in from the distance, and Derek asks Scott to pull over, tucking the Jeep behind a set of rock outcroppings, hiding it from sight. 

It's dusk and the wind is strangely still, the sound of a howling coyote echoing from miles away.  The Jeep is bathed in the light from the setting sun, illuminating everything.

Derek digs around in his duffle for his binoculars.  Focusing in on the camp, he scans through the massive amount of cars and trucks.  Even if the Alpha's caravan is spotted by raiders, only an idiot would attempt to take them on.

"They've set up tents around the tanker trucks."  He tells Allison, handing her the binoculars.  "Do you see them.

"Yeah."  She nods. 

Derek knits his eyebrows.  "We'll create a distraction on one side of the camp, before we attempt to attach the explosives."

Scott hums. "It'll draw them away, giving us an opening." 

"You're staying here.  We need a quick exit, and when I send up the flare, you'll come get us.

"But-"

"Do it, Scott."  Allison touches his arm.

"Fine, but be careful."  Scott relents, moving closer to Allison, and Derek turns away from their private moment.

The wind picks up.

"Fuck."  Derek breathes, tucking the binoculars back into the duffle.  "This might be a good thing, or it could make everything go terribly wrong, but,"  Derek points off into the distance, on the other side of the Alpha's camp.  Where a rising cloud of sweeping red dust, miles high and wide approaches.  "A dust storm."

"It'll cover us."  Allison asserts.

"I hope so."  Derek unties the scarf from around his neck, wrapping it around his face and nose, pulling goggles over his eyes to protect them.  He's unlikely to see where he's going amid red blowing sand, but he'll need to look at his compass if he wants to get a sense of direction.  They pack the explosives into their bags, and set out, jogging the short distance to the Alpha camp, hoping to cover much ground, before their mobility turns to shit.

Minutes later the storm hits.

Derek adjusts his goggles.  All his skin is covered, and any openings are cinched tight, still, he's bound to find sand in awkward places come morning.  Allison heads to the north end, to cause the diversion, while Derek goes south.  He has a thirty minute window frame to find Stiles before Allison lets loose the distraction.  And then, with Stiles hopefully by his side, he'll place the explosives on the fuel tank.

Intermittently, looking down at his compass, he squints, checking for any sign of the camp, but all he sees is red.  He was more than halfway there when the storm hit, but Derek's moving slower than walking speed, so it seems to be taking forever to reach the camp. 

Usually, it's a death sentence to be caught in a sandstorm out on the wasteland.  If the sand doesn't kill first, the lack of direction will.  Falling off the edge of a cliff like a lemming is simply too easy when walking blind, unable to see more than a foot in either direction.

Without the compass, he would be a dead man.

Derek knows he's in the camp when he just about walks right into a truck.  Looking around, a familiar configuration of tents and vehicles, places him a bit more to the west than he'd originally hoped to end up.

A few tents look promising, but when Derek carefully cracks them open he only finds talcum men.  Thankfully none of them spot him.

Stiles is nowhere to be found.

Turning a corner, a couple of men holding spears, approach from only a few feet away.  Quick as a whistle Derek ducks into a tent, but when he turns around, he finds a startled talcum man pointing a gun at him.  Derek eyes widen as the man squeezes the trigger.

It doesn't even click.  Jammed.

He snaps online, and runs at the man staring confused at his gun, grabbing him around the waist, and tackling him the ground.  Tossing his gun aside, Derek sits on him, pressing the man into the sand.  Even if he screamed no one would hear him over the roaring wind. Sandstorms have an unfortunate tendency to clog up guns.  It's usually a bad thing, but right now, it just saved Derek's life. 

Derek presses his forearm against the man's throat.  "Where is he?"  The man gurgles, grabbing at Derek's arm, fingers scraping in desperation.  Derek relents and lets him have air.  The talcum man coughs, giggling like a madman.

"The Omega?  Oooo, it's gonna be all dried up.  The bun in the oven's gonna suck up all its juices, all its power, and then when its ready, they're gonna rip the wee thing out."

 _What the fuck?_   "Where is Stiles?"  Derek puts more pressure against the man's throat and he gasps, but doesn't stop his nonsense ramblings.

"What do you think came first?  The chicken or the egg?"  The talcum man rasps, and Derek punches him in anger, grabbing him by his shirt, tugging him up. 

"Fucking tell me where he is!"  Derek screams in the man's face, but he just smiles, blood dripping from a broken nose.

"Ding, ding, ding, wrong!"  The man squeals and goes limp.  Derek slaps his face, but he's unconscious.  Frustrated, Derek tosses the man aside, and grabs the clogged gun.  He makes sure the coast is clear before leaving the tent, chucking the useless gun into the rapidly built up sand.

Derek checks a few more tents, hissing in frustration when all he finds is more talcum men.

At any moment, Allison will slip a live grenade into the fuel tank of a truck.  And Derek still has no idea where Stiles is

A massive explosion rings out through the camp, audible over the roar of the wind.  Derek growls, marching deeper into the camp, heading for the fuel tanks.  Suddenly, he spots a massive tent, larger than any of the others he's seen. 

It's so large it must be the Alphas'. 

Derek stumbles through the high winds and blowing sands.  Even if Stiles isn't inside, the Alphas will know where he is.  Derek draws the combat knife out of its holster, gripping it tight with a gloved hand, as he lumbers over to the massive canvas structure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a hell tonne of medical journals detailing crossbow injuries, so everything that Deaton does for Erica is paraphrased from one. But still, don't do it at home.
> 
> Leave a comment, tell me how it's going, or where you think it's going, I'd like to know :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arrrg, I can't even go on my Tumblr dash anymore, everyone's talking about how awesome Fury Road is. Fuck it. I'm going to go see it tomorrow. I can't wait to see how much it differs from this fic, and the other Mad Max films. It's really unlikely to skew my plot decisions at this point, everything's already planned out. We're on the home stretch peeps, only two chapters left :)
> 
> Note the updated tags.

He's in an oven.

A hot metal oven that's... Hot.  It's so hot, he can't fucking think straight.

If he even touches uncovered flesh to the walls of his prison, his skin burns.  He has welts up and down the back of his arms and he's tired from sitting up long hours, afraid to lean against the walls.  A talcum man drops a skin of water through the slot three times a day, and food only once.  It's most defiantly not enough to sustain him for a long period of time. 

The only relief from the heat of day comes at night when the caravan stops, and he can finally rest.  Even if the freezing cold metal chills him to the bone, it beats the heat.

They took his leather pouch from him on the first day.    Something Stiles has taken to carrying with him wherever he goes since it holds his emergency bottle of pills.

Stiles hasn't had a dose in over 48 hours, and he's terrified he's going to keel over at any second.

Time passes slowly.  Stiles takes to staring out the small slot in the door, gazing out into the landscape, counting Joshua trees as they drive by, half delirious from lack of food and water.  He doesn't know what the Alphas want with him, but if it's his dead, rotting corpse, give him a few more days in this box and he'll get there.

Stiles laughs hysterically, hugging his arms around his legs, he's going to die.  He's going to die and it's going to suck so much.  He'll never see his dad again, or Scott.  Or Derek, for that matter.

His head thumps against a wall when the truck he's in suddenly rolls to a stop.  "Hey!"  Stiles pounds on the door, and nearly brains himself when red rimmed eyes peer back at him and he snaps away in shock.

"Does it want something?"  The talcum man giggles, sticking his fingers in the box, wriggling them in Stiles' face like he's a caged animal. 

It takes Stiles a few moments for him to realize that by _it_ , he means him.  Stiles frowns, being insulted is the least of his problems, but being referred to as a thing, does not, and never will, make him feel good.

"Could I get some water?"

"Oh no, no, no, no.  Water's only for good, little things.  And you've been a _very_ naughty thing."

"The Alphas probably don't want me dead, and if this continues, I. will. die."  Stiles enunciates slowly, just in case the talcum man doesn't understand what he's saying.

The man blinks, reaching his hand into the box, placing his dusty finger against his lips.  Stiles is tempted to bite down, but he feels like it would just make the man laugh harder, and him thirstier.  He doesn't want talc dust and whatever else the man is covered in, in his mouth.  "Shush, now.  This one is trying to listen."  He says, before withdrawing his hand and disappearing without a word.

Stiles slumps in defeat.  It must be midday by now, and at least 90 degrees in here.  His head throbs, and his limbs feel heavy.  Stiles blinks blearily, swaying.  Is it just him, or is the world getting blurrier?

Everything fades to black as his head makes contact with unforgiving metal.

***

When he awakens the first thing he notices is the warm, breathable air.  Stiles takes a deep breath, fresh air cycling through his lungs.

"You're awake."  A gentle feminine voice says.  Stiles blinks, and opens his eyes, staring up at a mass of red cloth.  Delicate chiffon shifting in the wind.  He's in some kind of heavy canvas tent, on a bed with a decorative fabric canopy.  It's the picture of overindulgence. 

"Where am I?"  He asks, coughing, his throat dusty dry.  A water skin is placed at his lips and he takes long, deep sips.

She ignores his question.  "I'm sorry.  I should've told the Alphas you're not as resilient as them.  They can forget sometimes."

Stiles laughs, but that just makes him break out into another coughing fit.  "Wonderful.  Because it's so easy to forget humans die under extreme conditions."  He says as sarcastic as he can manage. 

"It is when you're not human."

Stiles rolls his eyes.  "Let me guess, the Alphas are secretly chupacabras?  Surprise."  He deadpans.

"Stiles."  The woman says, and he turns his head to look at her.  That's the first time in days someone has addressed him by name.  He should be pleased to finally be acknowledged as a person, but for some reason, his name coming from this woman's mouth, sends shivers down his spine.

She's dangerous. 

"How do you know my name?"  Stiles asks, studying the woman's face for a hint, but she's expressionless.  He's seen more emotion in the face of an insipid goat.  Her eyes are cold, and no matter how much her mouth moves to form the shape of a smile, her eyes don't follow suit.

"Call me Morrell, sweetie.  I'm a seer.  I found you for the Alphas."

"Seers aren't real."

"On the contrary, dear boy."  She runs chilly fingers down his arms.  "I see you all in my dreams.  You, that handsome curly haired boy, and another one, far across the ocean.  Unreachable, for now."

There's nothing like a side of insanity amongst all the kidnapping.

"What do you even want with me?"

"You are the future."  She runs her fingers through his bristly hair in a motion that reminds him all too much of his mother.  Stiles tries to pull away.  He doesn't want his memories contaminated by this woman, but it's useless, her fingers tighten, nails scratching.  "It's evolution, child.  You are the last, the Omega.  Your child will be a great Alpha."

"What the fuck."  Stiles rasps, and he pulls out of her grasp, her nails cutting into skin.

"The Alphas will breed you, Stiles, and you will produce the next generation."

And that's it, that's the last fucking straw.

"Are you fucking kidding me?  What kind of bullshit is this?  I'd rather die."  Stiles spits.

"That's not your choice.  Besides, the Alphas will care for the child, you need not worry about that.  Your sacrifice will be noted."

"Sacrifice."  Stiles parrot's back, shocked and frightened.

"For the child to be powerful it needs your strength.  Don't fear, you will live on in its memory.  It will love you for granting it life."

Stiles bursts into a fit of nervous laughter.  "Are you even hearing yourself now?"  He rubs his hand over his face.  "First of all, I'm not a woman, I don't have the necessary parts for the shit you're saying.  Second of all, what the fuck?  And thirdly, what the ever-living fuck!?" 

Morrell sits stony faced beside the bed, but then she sighs, rising from her seat.  She walks over to a short table, pulling his leather pouch out from a drawer.  Opening it, she takes out the bottle of pills, holding it up so Stiles can see them, bright orange shining behind the cobalt of the glass.  "Changing the capsules.  That's smart, I'll give you that."

Moving back to the bed, she sits back down in her chair.  Stiles eyes the bottle.  "Are you going to give me my dose?"  He asks hopefully.

"Maybe.  Just answer me one question."

"What?"  Stiles doesn't take his eyes off the bottle.

"Why do you need these?"

Stiles turns away, glaring up at Morrell, because isn't it fucking obvious?  "They did something to me six months ago, injected me with something, and the pills are the only things that help with the pain it causes."  Stiles shudders, remembering the day the raiders caught him.  Pinning him down onto the floor of the Jeep, taking out a syringe filled with a viscous cobalt liquid that almost _glowed_ in the light, injecting it into his arm while he squirmed and kicked, terrified out of his fucking mind. 

"Oh sweetie, that was a vitamin injection.  These,"  She shakes the bottle,  "are suppressants.  The herbs make your body produce hormones allowing you to mimic the biology of a human while it matures.  But once you're off them a few weeks, you'll become what we require. 

"The Alphas don't really need children for a few more years.  They were hoping to wait until I managed find more Omegas.  But, you and Isaac have proved slippery."  Her eyes narrow, the most amount of emotion she's ever shown to him.

"I'll die if I'm off them."  Stiles argues. 

Vitamins, he scoffs, how very likely.  He was healthier in Beacon Hills, at least there he had a balanced diet.  The injection was their way of holding him captive, making him dependent on them and their pills, not _vitamins_. 

"You won't die, don't be dramatic."  She scolds Stiles like he's is a petulant child.

"I tried!"  Stiles yells, trying to knock sense into this insane woman.  "The first week in the Colony I refused to take the pills, and I nearly died.  Isaac had to restart my heart!"

"That's normal.  It's just a part of the transformation."

"Normal!  Are you batshit crazy?  What about this shit is normal?"

"Stiles, accept your purpose.  It's what you were born to do."

Well fuck that.  Stiles growls.  Tensing his muscles, he makes a grab for the bottle in Morrell's hands.  The momentum of Stiles' moving body knocks her off her chair, onto the dirt.  Stiles is still weak but determined, and he stumbles towards the slit of light in the canvas calling for him. 

His heart's beating fast and his inebriated mind is playing tricks on him.  Derek will be on the other side of the tent, he just knows it.  Maybe his dad will be there beside him.  Stiles grips the bottle of pills in hand as he pushes out into blinding sunlight.

Something smacks against his legs and he sprawls to the ground, scrabbling in the dust, reaching out for the bottle as it rolls away, but a heavy weight presses down on his back as he's compressed into the earth.  "Get off of me!"  He screams when thighs tighten around his waist.  He tries to get a look at his assailant, but he can't, and he struggles, kicking out his legs, hoping to dislodge whoever is sitting on his back.  But they don't budge.

He's grabbed by the collar around his neck, his head pulled up as far as it can go.  Stiles stares up into the eyes of a furious Morrell.  "That was a mistake, boy."  She says, and she pushes his head back into the dirt, grinding his face on rough sand.

Stiles spits dirt out of his mouth when she lets up.  Satisfactorily, the reddish lob ends up on Morrell's shoe, dripping down.  "Fuck you."  Morrell looks him over, disdain overcoming her expression.

"Perhaps the Alphas were right in keeping you locked in that box."  She rattles his head, fingers digging painfully into his neck.  "You need to learn respect."  She spits on his face, and Stiles grunts in disgust, flinching away from her assault.  "Try that again, and I'll find a smaller, more constrictive box.  Don't test me."

Stiles flares his nostrils, and Morrell lets go, his face dropping into the dust.  She picks up the pills, tucking them into a pouch slung around her hips, and Stiles watches her walk away. 

Stiles digs his fingers into the earth, frustration and anger waging for dominance.  He just lets it go, screaming and kicking until the weight lets up from his back.

He's pulled to his feet, a hand around his bicep, and dragged back into the tent.  The enforcer pulling him along, pushes him back down on the large bed, and approaches with a chain fastened to the headboard.  He's hauled in by the ring attached to the back of his collar and Stiles sputters, choking, fingers grasping at the enforcer's callused hands.  He affixes the chain to the collar, and leaves Stiles alone without a word.

Stiles pulls himself off the bed, choosing to sit on the dusty floor than remain on a bed which inspires nothing but apprehension for what will happen when they reach the Colony.

If the Alphas will even wait that long.

***

They assign him a talcum man as guard or entertainment.  Stiles is not sure what, because he provides both.  Not to mention the three enforcers standing outside, peeking their heads into the tent every few minutes to check he's still inside. 

"Chicken or the egg?  Chicken or the egg?  What came first the chicken or the egg?"  The talcum man chants in a scratchy voice.

Stiles sighs.  "The egg was the first chicken, mutated from a different bird."

"Good, good!"  The talcum man squeals, patting Stiles on the head.  "What a good little thing."  Bouncing up and down in excitement, the man grins widely, making the powder on his face crease at his laugh lines.

Stiles buries his head in his arms as he sits cross legged on the ground, it's only been an hour since Morrell left.  He wouldn't says he's happy to not be thrown back in the box, but he's definitely not displeased.  At least in the tent he can stretch out his legs without burning his skin in the process, and even though the chain around his neck is relatively short, he can still walk around.  It's a great improvement, but not ideal. 

Ideal would by lying naked beside Derek under the bright lights of the milky way, limbs tangled together, exhausted after a round of vigorous fucking.  Yeah, that would be ideal.

Stiles sighs.  So long as he thinks of happy things he doesn't have to focus on what he knows the Alphas are going to do to him.  In fact, he tries really hard not to think about that.

He wants to see his dad again.  He wants to introduce him to Derek as someone important, not just the bounty hunter who rescued him, but something more.  He wants more with Derek.  So much more than any of them can afford to give. 

If Stiles was being honest with himself, he would have told Derek he loved him that night in his bedroom.  But he was too scared to find out if Derek would have left him regardless, hit the road again, going back to collecting bounties.  Leaving Stiles with a broken heart.

Stiles loves Derek.  He loves his thick black hair, so different from the people in the Colony.  When Stiles first saw Derek's hair and tattoo in the marketplace, it was like a little bit of home was right with him when he felt so displaced.  The memories of that hair beneath his fingers, the rasp of beard against his cheek as Derek pressed soft kissed to his lips.  And god, his eyes.  Hazel, but not quite.  Deep and beautiful and full of so many colours, reds rimming his pupils and deep greens in a sea of gold.  The way he smiles at Stiles, eyes creasing in a way that could never be anything but gentle. 

He's probably never going to see Derek again.  At the moment, escape is impossible.  Enforcers and talcum men patrol the camp while they set up for the night, not to mention they're guarding the tent zealously. 

Listening in, an ear quirked.  Stiles overhears the enforcers whispering about wind currents and the likelihood of an oncoming dust storm.  That would be the ideal time to escape, the dust storm would cover him enough to steal a truck.  But this restrictive chain around his neck binds him close to the bed.  If he had a heavy stone of some kind, he might've been able to break one of the rusting links.  But there's nothing heavy enough in the tent.  Besides, with the talcum man standing guard, Stiles won't be able to even try.

The man in question sits in the middle of the tent, playing with some marbles, watching them roll around in the dust, poking and prodding, and giggling when they move.  It's hard to believe mercury in the water can breed so much insanity within one massive city. 

The talcum man meets Stiles eyes, giggles, and looks away.

"Why do you serve them?"  The question leaves Stiles mouth before he even realizes it. 

"Chicken or the egg."  The man says distractedly, finger dragging through dust.

"You know about evolution.  You're not an idiot.  You're just..."  Cuckoo for cocoa puffs.  Stiles watches the talcum man, the way he places the marbles inside a lopsided circle drawn in the dust.  He sits outside the circle, knuckling at the marbles inside.  He knocks out every single marble he aims for. 

"Why the riddle?"  Stiles asks, scooting closer to the talcum man, picking up a marble lying outside the circle.  The man cocks his head, waiting.  Stiles knuckles the marble, hitting two in one shot.  They both roll out of the circle. 

Stiles hasn't played Ringers in years, it's nice to know he hasn't lost his touch."

"Ooo."  The man titters.  "Good Omega."

"Omega?"  Morrell called him that.

The talcum man points to himself.  "Beta."  He says, before picking up the marbles Stiles knocked out.  Opening Stiles' hand, he arranges them on his palm, rolling his fingers closed over, patting his fist.  "Hope."  He smiles, reddened eyes crinkling at the corners, before pointing his finger at Stiles' stomach.  "Future."

Stiles shivers, opening his palm, staring down at the multi-coloured glass.  He watches the talcum man take a shot, hitting two more marbles out of the circle.  "But according to Morrell, I'll die right after, that doesn't seem very sustainable."  Stiles argues.

The talcum man shrugs and waves an arm at the circle.  There are three more marbles left inside, and if Stiles is lucky enough, he can hit them all out. 

He takes the shot.

And makes it.  All four marbles roll over the line in the dust.  The man pouts, picking them all up, reluctantly handing them to him.  But Stiles just places them back in the middle of the circle, and the talcum man grins, clapping his hands in delight.

He gently pats Stiles on the head like he's a dog being praised, leaning closer as if he's about to tell him a secret.

"Chicken or the egg?"  He whispers in Stiles' ear.

Stiles sighs in defeat, falling back into the dust with a thump, startling the talcum man whose hand falls from his head.

The man's ambiguous as fuck, but he's still better than Morrell.

Or the Alphas.

***

It's dusk and he's been playing marbles for hours.  Stiles honestly can say he's an expert at this point, but the talcum man is still yards better than him.  He hasn't said anything but his familiar catchphrase in ages.  Stiles is worried he broke the man.

The canvas flap of the tent opens, and Stiles glances up, expecting to see an enforcer sticking his head inside, making sure he hasn't flown the coop.  Instead the Alpha leader stands.  Framed by red sunlight, he cuts an imposing figure as he holds a massive chest on his shoulder like it's a simple feat.

"Get out."  He orders and the talcum man scrambles to his feet, fleeing, leaving all his precious marbles behind.  Stiles sits in the dust knuckling a marble, straining his neck to stare up into the face of his captor.  The ground vibrates as the Alpha drops the chest.

The marble slips from his fingers.

And the Alpha cracks the chest open.

He pulls out Kate's crossbow.

The Alpha plucks the waxed cord distractedly.  The cocking stirrup must've snapped off in the fight when Kate was killed, rendering the crossbow an absolute hell to reload.  "It's a fascinating object, isn't it?"  He purrs, running his hand over the wooden stock. 

Stiles doesn't answer, not knowing if the Alpha expects one or not, but he guesses it's rhetorical when he continues.

"I've always wanted one."  He plucks two bolts from the chest at his feet.   Stiles' eyes widen in shock when the Alpha holds the crossbow in one hand, somehow pulling the string back and cocking it with only a finger.  "So beautiful, so noiseless."  He places the bolt in the groove, swinging the crossbow over, pointing it at Stiles' injured shoulder, finger on the trigger.  "So deadly."  He squeezes the trigger.

Stiles doesn't even flinch. 

The Alpha didn't flip the safety.  The fucking idiot.  Stiles would've rolled his eyes if he wasn't afraid it would get him ripped to shreds, or shoved back in the metal hell box. 

With the strength he used to cock the crossbow, if the Alpha wanted to, he could prod Stiles in the shoulder and easily reopen the slowly healing wound.

The man frowns at the weapon, tossing it and the extra bolt aside.  "Useless shit."  They land bouncing on the bed, Stiles is tempted to give a long lecture about shit people are absolutely not allowed to do with a loaded weapon. 

The Alpha turns cold eyes on him.  "Come here."

Stiles doesn't move.

"Morrell tells me you ran again."

Stiles doesn't say a word.  The Alpha doesn't need the crossbow to be vindictive, his bare hands will work just fine.

"Running will just end badly for you."

"It's going to end badly for me regardless."  Stiles finally says.  "I'd rather take my chances, _thank you very much_."  He adds sarcastically.

The Alpha smiles cruelly, cocking his head to the side.

"Humanity is a dying race.  Settlements are shrinking as aquifers dry or are contaminated.  Alphas are immune.  We are stronger, faster.  Yet, we require less to sustain us.  Eventually humans will die out, and we will be left."

"Whoop-de-do, good for you."

The Alpha stalks up to him, grabbing Stiles' scabbed shoulder in hand, squeezing it tight.  He yelps when a shot of burning agony runs through his whole arm, and tears spring to eyes.  "And unfortunately we need you for that." 

"Don't you need me alive?"  Stiles cries as the pressure increases.  Forget about the wound, it aches like his shoulder is being crushed.  Stiles tries to pull away, but it's useless, he's too strong.

The Alpha pulls Stiles closer.  "You don't have to be in once piece to be alive."  His whispers into Stiles' ear, before pushing him away roughly.  Stiles stumbles to a stop beside the cot.

Stiles looks down at his shoulder and cringes at what he sees.  The wound's seeping fresh blood again, revitalizing the dried brown from two days ago.  Stiles' eyes carefully follow the Alpha as he walks around the tent, sneering disdainfully at the game of Ringers, kicking the marbles so a few fly far into some distant corner of the tent.  Stomping the rest into the dust.

The Alpha stops his motions.  Tilting his head to the side, he sniffs the air, and grins.

Only a few minutes later Stiles hears it.  The heavy sound of sand beating against canvas.

A dust storm.

How did the Alpha sense it before it even hit?  Stiles thinks about his excessive strength, the fact that the man's nearly seven feet tall and bulky to boot.  Now, he has a second sense for weather changes?

If Stiles believes this nonsense.  If the Alphas are truly a different species, why wouldn't they just find more Alphas and breed with them?  Why do they need him for their nefarious purposes? 

Unless they can't reproduce.

Stiles thinks of the mule.  A hybrid of a donkey and horse, yet stronger than both, unable to produce its own young. 

"You're infertile."  He breathes, and the Alpha whips around to stare at him.

Mule stallions are sterile and can't sire offspring.  Maybe it's the same with the Alphas?  Stiles would laugh at the comparison, if this whole situation wasn't horrifying.

After a moment the Alpha looks away, clenching his hands into a fist.  "Our women,"  He says,  "are barren.  And when we mate with human women, the children drain and kill the mother before they form properly in the womb."

Colts born between mule mares and purebred horses are rare and practically unheard of.  Most often they are stillborn.  _If_ they even develop in the first place.

"And that's where I come in?"

"Omega are... resilient."  The Alpha growls reluctantly.  "Resilient enough to carry our children to full term." 

Stiles swallows.  "But it's pointless.  If your species cannot sustain itself, there's no point in making more."  Nowadays, experimenting with hybridization is impractical, especially when everyone's just trying to scratch off a living or avoid getting killed by raiders.  It's useless to have an animal that can't reproduce.

The Alpha steps forward, and roughly grabs his chin in a big hand, squeezing painfully, until his teeth cut into gums.  Stiles' eyes widen in fear, this man could so easily rip off his jaw with one hand.

He growls through clenched teeth.  " _We will evolve_.  One day, a fertile female with be birthed, and that is the day the Alphas will rule supreme."

"I don't think you know how evolution works, because that's not it."  Stiles argues. 

It's hybridization, it has nothing to do with evolution.

Some hybrid reproduction is impossible, chromosomes just don't match up and there are hundreds of years of recorded history to back it up.  Stiles would know.  He's read almost every single book in the Beacon Hills library, and quite a few of them deal with animal husbandry.  It's necessary, as his town depends on animals for food and clothing.

And all the laws concerning animals also applies to humans.

The Alpha snorts, and tosses him aside.  Stiles lands on his back, coughing harshly when the breath is knocked right out of him.  He's so fucking pissed off, tired of being mistreated, being treated like a toy made to break.  If the Alpha couldn't have stopped him with a pinky, he would be spotting a beautiful shiner.  Stiles is so done with this shit.

"What would you know, Omega?  Your species is only good for two things,"  The Alpha raises his fingers, lowering them as he counts,  "fucking, and making Alphas.  And soon, we won't even need you."

"I'm human."  Stiles snarls.

"You're my thing to fuck,"  The Alpha corrects and Stiles' clenches his fists in anger, "and if you're good enough at it, the daughter I lift from your still warm corpse might even know your name."

The Alpha points at him.  "You may think you're a beta, but you have yet to experience a heat.  You'll beg for it then."  He sneers.  "Omegas want to be filled, to be conquered, to be pushed into the dirt and fucked, like the pathetic things they are."  The Alpha advances, towering over Stiles.  He steps on the chain connecting him to the bed, and yanks it with his foot.  Stiles' head jerks to the side, and he yelps in pain as his head thuds into the dirt.  The Alpha leans closer, jeering.  "Just wait until you're screaming for it."

He steps off the chain, wandering back to his chest of treasures.

"You don't own me.  I am not a thing."  Stiles grates, coughing, as he struggles to his feet.  The cocked crossbow lies only a few feet away.  He could make it, and if he's quick enough...

"What are you going to do, Omega?  _Bite me_?"  The Alpha sneers.

Stiles will take his chances.

"Fuck off."  He says, and jumps for the crossbow. 

Grabbing it, he flips the safety, aims, and pulls the trigger. 

 

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/120239709232/art-for-chapter-nine-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

The bolt thuds right into the Alpha's neck. 

He falls to his knees grasping at his throat, ripping out the bolt, but it's a mistake.  The bolt shot straight into his carotid artery, blood spurts in streams, and Stiles doesn't hesitate.  Ignoring the strain it places on his shoulder, he quickly cocks the weapon.  Bracing it between his feet, he grabs the string, hooking it into the latch until it snaps. 

Stiles loads the second bolt into the flight groove, all the while the Alpha's choking on his own blood, down on his knees.  Calmly, Stiles approaches.  Standing out of arms reach, even though the Alpha's too busy choking and clawing at the spurting hole in his neck to attack him.   Stiles aims for the left eye socket, squeezing the trigger, letting the bolt fly. 

It meets its mark.

He drops the crossbow into the dust, letting out a sigh of relief as the Alpha body collapses, dead.

The chain rattles as he slumps over, exhausted, and Stiles walks over to the chest, looking inside for something to break the links, but there's nothing but luxurious fabrics.  Next, he checks the Alpha's body, in all his various pockets, but he doesn't have a key on him.

Stiles sits down on the bed, tugging ineffectually at the chain. 

Seems like he's stuck here until Morrell or the enforcers find him.  He looks at the Alphas' body.  Totally worth it.  Revenge is sweet.

That's when the explosion happens.

Stiles feels the ground shudder, and he stands shakily to his feet.  He can't hear any commotion coming from outside the tent, but then again the sandstorm mutes any sound.  He can't even look outside to check.  Enforcers are unlikely to be standing guard, given the biting winds and beating sand.  But his chain just doesn't reach that far.

Stiles sighs.  The cot's made of metal, and the chain is locked to an unbreakable part on the headboard.  He tries bracing his feet and tugging, but all that does is make him nearly fall over. 

"Stiles?"  A familiar voice says, and Stiles whips around.  His mind must be playing tricks on him because Derek's striding right up to him, stepping unceremoniously over the Alpha's dead body.  He doesn't stop when he's only a foot away, he keeps coming until he's all up in Stiles' business, cradling his head in large callused hands.  "Stiles."  Derek whispers, like he can't believe it's him.

Stiles doesn't know if he's hallucinating.

He reaches out, gripping Derek's soft jacket, the leather worn and sand beaten under his fingers.  He stares into Derek's eyes, and Derek's gazing right back, a look of wonder gracing his face.

"Derek."  His mouth splits into a wide grin as he takes in the beautiful man standing in front of him.  Hair as dark as night, and piercing hazel eyes, intense as he looks Stiles over, lingering on his shoulder where blood has stopped seeping.

Derek pulls in and presses the softest kiss to his lips.  It's gentle and tender until desperation runs through Stiles' body and he deepens it, opening his mouth, sucking at Derek's lower lip.  Derek groans, biting and kissing, hands running through hair, and Stiles just pushes closer, as close as can be, trying to communicate everything he feels for the man standing in front of him with just a few simple kisses.

Stiles breaks the lip lock and leans his forehead against Derek's.  "I love you."  He breathes.  "I love you so fucking much."  Derek's fingers run through his buzz, as he opens his eyes, holding Stiles' gaze.

"I love you more." 

And Stiles lets loose a relieved laugh he didn't know he was holding.  "I didn't know it was a competition."

"You're hurt"  Derek says smoothing a trembling hand down Stiles' face. 

Stiles shrugs,  "It's fine, it's just a flesh wound."

They get to work then.  Derek finds a weak link in the chain close to his neck, prying it open as Stiles digs through the Alpha's chest, picking out clothes to protect him from the sandstorm.

"I'll pick the lock when we have time."  Derek touches the collar, growling when he finds it chaffing Stiles' skin.

Stiles stops him with a hand to the shoulder.  "Erica?"  He asks, afraid for the answer, but Derek just smiles, and Stiles nods in relief.  "Thank fuck."  Derek laughs, hand dropping from his neck.

Derek explains the situation: the explosives, Allison and Scott, while he dresses in the clothes in the chest.  Derek makes sure his skin is protected; wrapping a scarf around his head, tearing long strips of cloth to wrap around his fingers as makeshift gloves.  The Alpha's goggles, much too big for him, go to Derek, while he takes Derek's pair.  "Ready?"  He asks, and Derek nods.

Derek takes his hand and they race from the tent, heading towards the center of camp.  It's dead empty, everyone's focused on Allison's distraction.  There are glowing reds and oranges in the distance, the fire from the blasted truck spreading in the high wind.  They don't have much time to set the explosives and get out safely.

When they reach the tanker trucks, Derek pulls his duffle off his back, opening it, taking the explosives out.  He gives one pack to Stiles and points out where to put it and how to arm it, while he takes the other one.  Derek checks his work when he finishes, giving him a pat on his good shoulder.

He pulls Stiles through the camp as they try to beat the heavy winds, moving to the west where they're supposed to meet Allison and send up a flare to Scott.

A convulsion hits his body and Stiles stumbles in the sand, Derek looks him over, concerned, but Stiles waves his worries away.

It's starting.

Stiles tries to keep calm, if he panics the convulsions will come faster, and he needs to make sure they've gotten away before they take him over.  Derek will have his pills.  He knows about them, he knows Stiles needs them.  They'll get back to the Jeep and the pills will be waiting for him, Stiles will take one, and he'll be fine.

Assuring himself, he calms down, and they reach the west side of camp without another incident.  Derek's looking for a specific truck they designated at the meeting area and a place to hide, Allison's supposed to be laying low inside, waiting for them. 

Derek pulls him over to a flatbed with spikes attached to every available smooth surface.  He knocks on the cabin door in a specific pattern, and Allison cracks it open, sliding out.  She grabs Stiles in a tight hug, while Derek pulls out a flare gun from his bag.

Stiles' hearts stutters, and he forces himself to concentrate on breathing.  In and out, in and out, not paying attention to what's going on around him, in an effort to stop the oncoming panic attack.  It's only when Derek sends up the bright green flare that Stiles snaps back to reality. 

The Jeep peals to a stop right in front of them a scant minute later.  Allison climbs into the front while Derek helps Stiles into the back.  Slamming the door shut, Scott takes off, driving like the wind. 

Stiles holds his side, leaning against the gasoline barrel, panting hard, trying to catch a breath, as Derek peels off his scarf, tossing his goggles to the side.  Looking out the window, all Stiles sees is red sand and fire in the distance.

When they're a safe distance away, Derek presses the remote control for the explosives, and the world erupts in blacked sooty flames, as an explosion rings loud and true.

Stiles sighs in relief, but lets out a loud groan of agony as his muscles suddenly seize, and currents of pain run through his limbs.

"Stiles!  Stiles, what's happening to you?!"  Derek shouts, his hands run all over Stiles' burning skin.  He's never felt like this before, like he could wriggle out of his skin.  He shifts as Derek touches him, and heat licks up his body, and suddenly he's hard, hard like he could drill through fucking steel, hard.  Derek must have noticed because his movements grow more frantic.

"What did they do to you?  How can I fix this?"  Derek pleads, gripping Stiles' arms.

"My pills, I need them."  His fingers start to grow numb, and light fades from his vision.  Derek stares in shock, unmoving  "Derek!"  He shouts, snapping him out of his daze.

"I don't have them!"  Derek cries, eyes wide and frightened.

Stiles blinks, but then his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made the A/B/O stuff really sciencey, and tried to remain as true as possible to hybrid theory, but I'm no expert, all info was gained from the glorious Wikipedia.
> 
> With regards to Stiles' response to the chicken or the egg question, all credit goes to the extremely handsome Neil deGrasse Tyson, cause he's awesome, and brilliant.
> 
> And now that almost everything is revealed, tell me how you guys feel about it? Did you like the reveal? Do you wanna punch me in the face? Lemme know :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long but I was really unsatisfied with how I wrote some scenes, I just couldn't get them right, so I deleted most of them and rewrote them, and let me tell you, they're so much better now. Moral of the story: don't be afraid to push that delete button if you know shit ain't working out!

 

"How is he?"  Scott asks, pulling up a chair, moving to sit beside him.  Derek hasn't left the infirmary in hours.  He spends most of the time here, and when he's not holding Stiles' hand wishing he would just wake up, he's out on the gun range, shooting his frustrations away.

"Still unresponsive, but at least he's able to breathe without support.  How'd it go with you and Camden?"

Scott leans back.  "The boys helped a lot.  We picked off a few stragglers, but all the Alphas are dead and accounted for.  They were in a tent with another woman, which was right beside the fuel trucks.  You can imagine how that went for them."

"The pills?"  Derek asks, his voice hopeful.

Scott sighs and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a mass of twisted blue glass.  He places it in Derek's hand.  "Melted, they're ruined.  I'm sorry."

Derek sighs, gripping the melted glass.  "Not your fault."  Derek nods to the bed where Stiles has lain in a coma for three days.  "Dr. Ito has no idea when he'll awaken, _if_ he'll even awaken."

"Derek.  Hey,"  Scott grips his shoulder,  "he'll be fucking okay.  Stiles is a fighter."

"I know."  Derek smiles, it's half of why he loves him so much.  "I talked to Danny.  Isaac's due back in a week.  He's running a shipment with Ethan down to the Southernlands."

"Well, fuck."  Scott scratches his head.  "Camden's already searched through his belongings, but Isaac took all his pills with him."

Derek stares down at the bottle, a melted glutinous mess fused to the glass. 

Stiles had been in and out of consciousness the whole drive to the Martin post.  Mumbling about a woman with cold eyes taking his bottle of pills.  Derek held so much hope in the party Lydia offered to send back to the ruins of the Alpha's camp, making sure they would never harm Stiles, or anyone else ever again.  He described what he remembered of the bottle to the whole group in hope they'd come across it.  It was a long shot, but it paid off. 

"I'll give these to Dr. Ito, she should still be able to work her magic, analyze what's inside.  Watch him?" 

"Was planning on anyways, dude."  Scott says, leaning closer to the bed, taking Stiles' hand in his, as Derek gets up from his chair, leaving the infirmary.

Dr. Ito should be in Lydia's office.  She needs express permission to use the mass spectrometers in her lab because of all the electricity they consume.  The thermal collectors blanketing Lydia's land can only handle so much.

Derek knocks on the door and is called in only a second later.

"Derek."  Lydia greets, leaning back in her chair, a gold coin rolling over her knuckles, ledger in her other hand.  She's the very picture of authority.  Dr. Ito sits on the other side of the desk, charts and papers in front of her, all of them likely detailing Stiles' condition.  He plops himself down in the only empty chair left.

 

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/120914678342/art-for-chapter-ten-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

Lydia's very pleased with him.  He cut the head off the snake of a whole city of raiders.  Now, the remaining denizens of the Colony are most likely to disband, or fall under new leadership.  The Alphas' systematically  planned attacks on her post's trading routes used to bother her to no end.  Now, all that's left for her to contend with is a bunch of insane lunatics with no strategy.

Derek doesn't see how that can make her happy.   But it does, and that makes her grateful. 

"You still owe me my five percent."

Well, slightly grateful.

"You're already getting my all my gold.  You're going to bankrupt me for an isotope analysis."  Derek hopes he'll at least have enough gas money to get Stiles back home when he's better.

"You know me so well."  Lydia smirks.  "But that's not it.  Satomi?"  She says, turning to Dr. Ito.

"I want permission to use the ultrasound machine.  I was examining Stiles' abdomen, and found something..."  She trails off, her brow furrowed.

"What?"

"A discrepancy, something that should not be there.  And don't ask, I'm not going to tell you my suspicions until I know for sure.  I don't want you laughing at me."

Derek frowns.  Could Dr. Ito be lying to get more money?

Yes.

Is Derek willing to bet Stiles' life on it?

No.

"How much will this cost me?"

"Five ounces."  Lydia states

"I don't have that much gold on me."  The Sheriff owes him twenty ounces.  Twenty ounces he's not even sure he wants to collect anymore.  It wouldn't be right, he doesn't plan on leaving Stiles anymore, and taking money from his father under those circumstances does not sit well with him.

"How unfortunate."  She says, coldly.

"Isn't there something else I can do?"

"Let me run some semi invasive tests on Stiles."  Dr. Ito offers, and Derek shakes his head.

"Out of the question."  Derek points his finger at her.  "You are not going anywhere near him with a scalpel, unless it's to save his life."

Lydia rolls her eyes.  "There is another thing you can do.  Come work for me."

Derek leans back in his chair.  "I'm assuming you don't mean as a guard."

She raises a finger.  "One year, and you'll help my people protect our trade routes all over the wasteland.  In return I'll give you half off everything I would normally charge you for Stiles' treatment."

Derek scoffs.  "Free,"  he counters, "and then I'll do it."

Lydia narrows her eyes.  "You're not in a position to negotiate."

"On the contrary, you're the one who needs me.  I know this land better than all your boys put together.  I could open up new trading routes for you, negotiate with other posts and towns, I could bring you so much business, help you get more raw materials."

Lydia sighs, turning to Dr. Ito,  "Fuck.  I hate the intelligent ones."

"Can't really point them in one direction and tell them who to shoot."  She agrees.

"My intelligence is why you want me.  So do you agree?  One year, and you will help Stiles to the best of your ability."

"Yes, fine.  Now go.  Run whatever tests you need, Satomi, I'll tell Aiden to redirect more power to your sector."  Lydia says, dismissing them with a wave of her hand.

***

Dr. Ito squeezes cold blue gel on Stiles' flat stomach, lubricating his skin so the transducer probe slides properly.  Unfortunately, it also does the disservice of making Stiles' pale skin appear even paler.

She turns the ancient machine on and it hums to life, creaking and making fairly alarming sounds.

"Don't worry, it won't explode."  She tries to reassure him.

"You know what?  I wasn't worried about that until just now."  Derek says sardonically.

Dr. Ito rolls her eyes. "Pull the blanket higher, you're flashing him."  Oh yeah, that's Stiles' penis.  Derek covers him enough so only a few inches of skin below his belly is visible, and Dr. Ito picks up the probe.  Flipping a few more switches, she places it on the gel and the machine's screen comes alive.

She moves the probe around, staring intently at the screen, brow wrinkled in concentration.  Derek rests his hand against Stiles' face, thumb stroking his cheekbone as he tries to make sense of the dark shapes forming on the screen.  Dr. Ito points to a large black mass, surrounded by a ring of white.  "This is his bladder."  She moves her finger down to another mass,  "And this is what I felt in his lower abdomen."

Derek leans closer.  "What is it?"  He asks carefully. "A tumour?"

"No,"  she shakes her head,  "a tumour wouldn't look like this.  This is hollow on the inside."  Dr. Ito presses a few buttons on the console, and the image magnifies, her eyes widen in shock and she mutters, "But that's impossible."

"Why?"

"Because,"  Her eyes flick to where only a minute before Derek covered up Stiles' modesty,  "Stiles is male."

Derek frowns.  "I don't understand..."

"In a woman,"  she taps the screen,  "that would be a uterus, but in Stiles.  I have no fucking idea."

Derek's mouth drops open.  "Could the pills have caused this?"

"The Alphas might have been giving him hormones, but nothing could stimulate a man's body to grow a uterus.  Unless it's something he's born with..."  Dr. Ito trails off, tapping her finger against her lip.  When she speaks again, her voice is thoughtful.  "There are rumours circulating around the wasteland, about a group of people intent on exterminating a _supposed_ new race of humans.  I thought it was all bullshit and hearsay, until now."

Dr. Ito wipes the gel off the probe, turning the machine off.

"They speak of people who can heal from almost anything.  Women, able to give birth in even the harshest conditions.  And men,"  She stares at Stiles, Derek's hand still stroking his face,  "Men who can carry children."

"That's impossible."  Derek breathes, his hand stilling.

"And yet, perhaps it's why the Alphas wanted him."

And suddenly, Derek feels sick.  "Did they..."  Derek scours his mind for the appropriate word, swallowing he asks, "touch him?"

"I don't know.  But what I do know is that whatever's wrong with Stiles has to do with his biology.  Did you get the pills?"  Derek silently reaches into his pocket, and pulls it out, handing her the twisted glass.  "I'll leave you with him."  She says, wheeling the ultrasound machine back into the equipment room, taking the bottle with her, closing the door with a heavy click and turn of the lock.

Derek sits down in the seat she vacated.  Grabbing a cloth from the bedside table, he gently wipes the excess gel from Stiles' abdomen, scrubbing all traces of it from skin and dark hair.  Stiles' flesh is warm to the touch when Derek splays his hand out on his belly.  His stomach's flat after only spending a few days in the Alphas' custody.  They must've been starving him.

At least Stiles attained some satisfaction dealing with his own personal demon.  Derek, on the other hand, wants to go back and burn the caravan to the ground again.  He never thought he could feel so _benevolent_ towards fire,  considering the way his own family died.  Fury changes a person.

He pulls Stiles' hospital gown down again, laying the cloth over the head of the gnome on the bedside table.  No matter how many times he tucks the statue away in the drawer, the damned thing keeps popping up again.  He admires Dr. Ito's tenacity.

Derek moves the chair closer to the head of the bed.  Running his hand through the short buzz of Stiles hair, he fingers the divots of the boy's skull, his other hand touching Stiles' delicate ear, the gold stud decorating it.  Derek bends down, pressing a kiss to Stiles' upturned nose.  A tear runs down his cheek, falling on the Stiles' face.  Derek wipes it away.

He keeps vigil beside Stiles' bed, until sleep eventually claims him.

 

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/120362890327/art-for-chapter-ten-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

***

Derek wakes to a shrill scream, once again in only a few short days.

He goes for the gun at his thigh, pulling it out of its holster before he fully awakens.  The scream sounds again, and Derek recognizes the voice, and a cold spike of fear runs down his spine.  Stiles.

Standing, he flicks on the gas lamp, and light floods the infirmary, illuminating Stiles writhing on the bed.  His body spasms, a sheen of heavy sweat coating his pale skin.  Stiles' hands clench into tight fists, as they pound on the bed, desperation visible in every inch of his body. 

He's in agony, Derek realizes with a jolt of horror.

Stiles mouth opens again, and pure, unadulterated agony pours out, loud and deafening.  If no one heard the first scream, they're sure to hear the second.  Derek wishes he could unhear it.  Panicked, runs his hands over Stiles' arms finding him clammy.

But then, just as soon as it started, the spasms stop.  And Stiles cracks his eyes open.

"Stiles?"  Derek breathes, hands in a death grip around his biceps.

Stiles blinks, head bobbing, "Whaaa?"  His voice cracks, rusty with disuse.

Derek breaks.  Tears run down his face as he gently cradles Stiles' face in his hands, bending down, he presses kiss after kiss to desiccated lips.  Pure relief consuming him.  "Stiles, Stiles, you're awake."  He murmurs in between kisses.

Stiles doesn't move to return the kiss.  He's still like death underneath Derek.

Derek pulls away, looking into Stiles' eyes for the first time since he opened them.  He finds them cloudy and unfocused, pupils so dilated golden honey is hardly even discernable.  Derek swallows dryly, "Stiles?"

Just as sudden as before, Stiles' body seizes.  His head is thrown back out of Derek's grip as he groans, spine bowing dangerously.

"Please..."  Stiles groans.  "Oh god, please..."

Derek's hands flit over Stiles' body, checking everything from his elevated pulse, to the chill of his skin.  "What do you need?"  He pleads, panicked.  "Tell me."    

"Fuck me."

Derek freezes.

"Oh god, just fuck me.  Please, it aches so much."

Derek steps back in shock, as Stiles' cloudy eyes turn to him.  "Fill me."  He begs, hips thrusting up into air.  "I need it, _please_."

Derek feels sick.  He's is as good as drugged, he may mean every single word he says under better circumstances, but right now Stiles isn't here, whatever the Alphas did to him is controlling his body.

Stiles lifts his body off the mattress, unfocused eyes locked right on Derek's groin, as hands go straight for his belt buckle.  In a fit of unimaginable strength, Stiles grabs his belt loops, tugging Derek forward until he falls.  The bed bounces as he lands, startled.  Stiles' hands work furiously at his pants, pulling his belt off with one short movement, tossing it away.

Derek tries to push him away, but he's incredibly strong, and Derek doesn't want to hurt him.  "Fuck yes,"  Stiles hisses as he frees Derek's limp dick from his pants.

"Stop.  Stiles, stop!"  Derek grabs at Stiles' wrists as he starts jacking Derek roughly.  His hands are dry like sand, and there's no arousal to distract away from the pain.  Derek manages to pry away Stiles' hands, but instead, his long legs wrap themselves around his hips as he rubs his hard cock on Derek's stomach.

Stiles keens, his voice shrill.  "Yes, yes, yes!  Put it in me, please, _please_."  Derek tries to pull away, but Stiles' legs are like a vice clamped around his hips, and Derek can't move.  He panics, attempting to buck Stiles off him, trying so hard to be gentle, even when Stiles doesn't afford him the same courtesy.

Then, Stiles' legs are gone, and Derek is pulled away from the bed, a hand tightly gripping the back of his shirt.  He stumbles, landing hard on his ass, dust flying up.

Camden wrestles with Stiles, Derek's belt in hand, as he pulls Stiles' hands over his head, using the tough leather to bind him to the solid bedposts.  He kicks, trying to get free, but eventually Stiles gives up, and tries rubbing himself off on Camden's thigh.  Camden lets out a disgusted noise, but makes sure Stiles is tied securely to the bed, before moving away. 

Stiles' legs kick the air as he growls,  "No!  Come back here.  Fuck me, I can take both of you!  Please I'll be so good."  Stiles pleads, tears running down his face, as he rubs his hips against the bed.

"Thanks."  Derek breathes, gripping Camden's offered hand as he pulls himself off the floor.  He tucks himself back in his pants, zipping up.

"We should gag him."  Camden says, rummaging around in a nearby chest of drawers, pulling out hospital restraints.  "You're lucky I was on shift.  Other guards would've gladly taken what he's offering."

Derek squeezes his eyes shut, fisting his hands at his sides, trying to control his furious anger, before calmly taking the restraints from Camden. 

He ties Stiles' legs to the baseboard, as he kicks out, begging with words Derek daydreams about Stiles using.  But unfocused eyes, and empty words bring him no satisfaction.  Stiles hasn't once said his name since awakening.  Whatever is doing this to Stiles wants a warm body to fuck him, not Derek.

Derek shudders to think what would have happened if Camden hadn't shown up and freed him from Stiles' clutches.

Stiles whispers filthy promises Camden pretends not to hear as he ties a cloth around Stiles' mouth, effectively silencing him and his words.  "What are you going to do?"  Camden asks.

"I have no fucking idea."  Derek sighs, running a hand through his messed hair.  "But I think I'll start with Dr. Ito."

Camden goes to wake her while Derek takes a seat beside Stiles' bed as the boy moves as much as he can while practically hogtied to the bed.  His eyes are still unfocused and Derek hates to think about Stiles like this. 

He feels no sexual attraction for him when he's in this state.  Stiles defenceless and out of his mind does not turn him on.  In fact, he doubts his balls could retract even further into his body than they already are.

At first Derek tries stroking Stiles' forehead, but that just made him jerk around more, and eventually  Derek stops touching him altogether.  He moves the chair back, sits, and waits patiently for Dr. Ito. 

She arrives with flourish into the infirmary, still wearing pyjamas, dressing gown cinched closed around her waist.  "Camden explained everything."  She says walking over to her desk.  "I'm going to draw some blood."  Derek nods.

She prepares her supplies, while Derek looks on, worried.  Tying a rubber band tight around Stiles' bicep, she draws a tube of blood out, while Stiles looks on, mumbling around the gag, probably promising her filthy things if she would untie him.  Dr. Ito sighs.  "Camden really wasn't kidding."

"What's wrong with him?"  Derek asks, worried.

"I'll go run this, see what chemicals are in his blood, all that pizzazz."  Derek stares at her blankly.  "Kid, it's fucking midnight, if you want eloquence you'll have to wait a few hours.

"Are you awake enough to work the machines?"  Derek asks doubtfully, but Dr. Ito just snorts.

"I could stitch someone up in my sleep, it's talking to next of kin that's difficult.  They always want explanations I can't give."  She mutters, walking away, unlocking her machine room.

Derek sits back down, defeated.  He tries to tune out Stiles' mumblings, but it's a useless endeavour.  Everything he once wished Stiles would say to him, he's saying under the worst possible circumstance.

"Leff mwe suff yo coff."  Stiles whines through the gag, and Derek sighs, getting up from his chair, wandering over to the bookcase.  He picks a slim tome about the mating habits of an extinct species of frog, and starts reading.  Halfway through, he finds tears running down his cheeks, and it isn't images of happy little tadpoles causing them to fall.

An hour or so later, Dr. Ito cracks open her door, poking her head out, she gestures to him, and Derek walks to her, following her into the machine room.  She shuts the door closed after them. 

"There's something in his blood."  She hands a sheet to him, it's covered in numbers and graphs, and Derek tries to make sense of it, but can't, so he hands it back.  Dr. Ito frowns.  "Sorry, sometimes I forget everyone isn't as smart as Miss. Martin."  Derek would take offense to that, but now isn't the time.  He raises a brow, waiting.

"There's an unidentifiable substance in his blood.  I wasn't looking for it before, so I never saw it until now.  It appears blue and oily under the microscope.  And it's spiking his natural hormone production, generating artificial hormones, and a whole lot of them.  I figure, once we flush this substance out of his body, Stiles should be fine again.  He might not even need the pills anymore."

Derek's eyes widen, and Dr. Ito explains further.  "From what I can tell, the pills were counteracting this substance, allowing Stiles' body to function normally, but once he was stopped from taking them-"

"His body went haywire."

"Exactly." 

"Then how do we detoxify him?"

"I can perform a few further tests, the blue substance almost seems organic, like it has a life of its own, I'll test a few chemicals against it, see if I can pull up a response."

"What about Stiles?"  Derek ask, worried.

"I'm not going to sedate him, I don't know how tranquilizers will affect him and the drugs in his system, we'll just have to keep him restrained."  She pauses.  "I'm going to keep the infirmary locked and give you a key."  Derek nods, he hates to think of someone with less honourable intentions coming upon Stiles in a state where he can't protect himself.   

When the sun rises Dr. Ito kicks Derek out, claiming his presence stirs Stiles up more than usual. 

Derek takes his gun to the shooting range.  If Boyd saw him now, he'd frown at his blatant misuse of ammunition, taking out his frustrations into crumbling chalk.

He hasn't needed to practice his aim in a long time, he gets enough real world experience to stop him from going rusty.  Derek sits in the shade of the same rock where he first discussed with Stiles their budding relationship.  Pulling out a box of cartridges, he snaps them one by one into the magazine, finding the whole process repetitive and relaxing.

"What are you doing out here?"  Derek looks up to Camden standing with a hand on his hip, mouth quirked.  He really does resemble Isaac.  They both have the same smile.

"What's it look like?"

"Like you're planning on digging us a new tunnel with your gun."

Derek ignores Camden's words, sliding the magazine into the gun with a click.  "I never thanked you for your help in the infirmary."

Camden shrugs.  "Just doing my job."

"Your job is to protect Lydia's interests, not help me restrain the drugged love of my life."

"Love of your life, huh?  Isaac mentioned you and Stiles were sleeping together, but he spoke of a more casual arrangement."

"I don't see how it's any of your business."  Derek snaps and makes to stand up, moving away from Camden.  He takes aim at the crumbling cliffs.

"It isn't.  But I do love gossip."

"Lydia must be rubbing off on you."

"Oh, is she ever."  Derek turn to face Camden, brows raised.  "Okay, don't tell her I said that, she'd rip off my head."

Derek huffs.  "She's probably saying the same about you."

Camden hums, smiling.  "Yeah, she probably is."

"What are you doing down here anyway?  Isaac said you two were from the Northernlands.  He was going to go find you before, well, shit happened."

Camden crosses his arms, leaning against a boulder.  "My father _died_ ,"  He says,  "and he managed to gamble away our farm before he bit the dust.  The useless piece of shit.  He sold Isaac, you know?  One day, I come home from a long trading trip to find Isaac's room empty, and my brother nowhere to be found.  Dad said he sold Isaac to some raiders from the west for a case of fucking whiskey. 

"If there's one thing I regret, it's not shoving a knife in that man's throat sooner.  I packed up all my things, and headed south.  I heard Lydia's post channelled most of the trading out on the wasteland, so I came here, hoping I might hear a rumour about my brother, or the men who took him.  But there was nothing until you brought him to me."

"You'll have to thank Stiles for that, honestly, if it was up to me I would have left Isaac behind in the Colony."

Camden looks at him with a raised brow, before he shakes his head, smiling.  "If that was the case, you could have easily brought Stiles all tied up to his father.  You had a choice, but you chose the kinder option. You're a good man, Derek Hale, and that's hard to come by on this wasteland."

Derek shrugs.  "My mother raised me right." 

She raised him to be a good ranch hand, not a bounty hunter but those are just details.  She taught him respect, and kindness, and most of all love.  Rumours can say what they want about Derek Hale, but he knows how to love, and love strongly.  Erica, Boyd, and now Stiles.  He would go to the ends of the world and back again if it means helping them.

Camden laughs.  "How the hell did you even get the moniker Feral Wolf?

"I'm not as kind to raiders."  Derek snarls, squeezing a few round into the cliffs, the chalk crumbles as the bullets hit.  "In fact, I make sure I'm not."

"I'll say.  You should hear what people are saying about you and Stiles after that shit with the Alphas."

Derek laughs incredulously. "They're talking about Stiles?"

Camden waves in hand in the air.  "The Feral Wolf and the Fox Demon, the wasteland's own Bonnie and Clyde."

"Demon, huh?  God, he's going to love that."  Derek shakes his head, laughing  "It's going to go to his head."

"People are saying he ripped the Alpha leader apart with his bare hands."  Camden rolls his eyes.  "You know how these things are."

"Let them say what they want, if Stiles is considered dangerous, people are less likely to fuck with him.  I will say, though, he is fucking deadly with a crossbow."

***

"What are you _doing_?"  Derek questions as he wanders into the infirmary, finding Dr. Ito setting up some sort of machine on wheels beside Stiles' bed, plugging it in, the machine crackles with energy.

"Electricity, Derek.  I took a tissue sample from Stiles, ran a current through it, his accelerated healing protected his cells from harm, but the substance moved away from the current."

Derek blinks.  "You want to electrocute Stiles?"  He asks incredulously.

"Yes."

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?  You'll kill him!"

"Like I said, he heals fast."

"He's still recovering from the gunshot wound."

Dr. Ito narrows her eyes.  "Derek, he shouldn't even be able to use that shoulder, the muscles were damaged so severely, and yet."  She points to Stiles bucking on the bed.  "He's moving around just fine."

Derek growls, frustrated.  "Will it help him?" 

"It should."  She says simply, picking up the paddles, waiting for Derek's consent.

Not it will, but it should.  Derek looks at Stiles, but he has to turn away.  Whatever this is, it isn't living.  If Stiles were conscious, Derek has no doubt he'd be begging to be put out of his misery.  He has such a strong sense of pride, and this _state_ the Alphas have subjected him to, is nothing but humiliating and dehumanizing.  Stiles would kill him if he knew there was some chance of curing him and Derek didn't take it because he was scared for his life.

Derek breathes.  "Do it."

Dr. Ito nods and tosses him a hospital restraint.  "Tie him properly to the bed, make sure he can't move an inch.  And take out the gag,"  she adds, "We can't have him choking on vomit."  Derek hates that  that's an option.

Derek carefully walks up to Stiles, the boy's eyes blearily following after him.  He straps the cotton around his middle, tying it to the bed frame securely, before gently holding Stiles' neck as he unties the knot around the back of his head.  Stiles kicks up a fuss as Derek touches him.  Derek doesn't have to wonder what Stiles is saying because once the gag comes off, all bets are off.

Derek peels away the cotton from clenched teeth, and right away, Stiles starts talking. 

"Yes.  Finally, take me now, come on."  Stiles mewls and Derek bunches the gag in his fist.

"God, just fucking do it before I change my mind."  And Dr. Ito complies. 

"Stand back."  She says and Derek moves away before she presses the paddles down onto Stiles' chest, leaning her weight on his body as she shocks him, volts of electricity running through him, hopefully cleansing him of the blue substance.

"His arms next."  Dr. Ito flips another switch, charging the paddles, Derek can almost feel the buzz of electricity in the air.  Stiles isn't moving, and his eyes are closed, Derek is scared, but he's breathing normally, his chest moving up and down. 

She places the paddles on his biceps, and his arms flop with the jolt.  "Legs."  She says, repeating the whole process again.  Stiles' legs kick with the electricity, and finally Dr. Ito places the paddles back in their cradle.  Unplugging the machine the buzz of power dissipates and the infirmary is plunged into disturbing stillness.

"Now what?"  Derek breaks the silence, and his question is answered only a second later.

Stiles' back bows off the bed, stretching the restraints to their max, and Derek rushes to undo them, freeing Stiles before he hurts himself irreparably.

"What's happening to him?!"  Derek asks panicked, holding Stiles' flopping head in his hands as his body seizes, floundering around on the bed, limbs going haywire.  Dr. Ito stands calmly to the side.  "What the fuck are you doing?  Help him!"  Derek yells at her as he tries to keep Stiles arms from hitting the hard metal of the bed frame.

"Calm down, Derek, let the electricity work."

"Calm down, _calm down_?!"  He screeches.  Suddenly Stiles goes deathly still, and Derek's left grasping at his limp body, his head lolling.  Tears stream down Derek's cheeks as he stares down at the unmoving boy in his arms. 

Derek draws in a sharp breath as Stiles grows even more pale.  He touches Stiles' hot neck and his fingers come away wet with sweat, but when he stares down in shock at his digits, a light blue oil coats them.  Derek's eyes flick back to Stiles, watching as cobalt blue oil seeps from his pores like sweat.

Stiles takes a deep, heaving breath, and his thousand yard gaze clears, focusing in on Derek.

"Derek, fuck."  Stiles gasps,  "I think I'm gonna puke."  And then he does just that.  Derek quickly turns Stiles on his side as he vomits onto the floor.  He thinks it's the most glorious yet disgusting thing he's ever seen. 

Derek stokes a soothing hand down Stiles' back, rubbing his stiff muscles, locked, from being in the same position for hours.  "Hey, you're okay, you're fine now."  Derek whispers softly.

Stiles wipes a hand over his mouth.  "What happened?  I can't remember a thing after you blew up the caravan."

Derek grabs a washcloth from the side table, wetting it, he starts wiping down Stiles' hands, mouth, and the rest of his body, the cloth quickly turning blue, "We're at the Martin post, it's been a few days since we got you out."

"And the rest of the Alphas?"  Stiles asks carefully, like he's afraid of the answer.

"They won't be bothering you ever again."  Derek replies, tossing the cloth away, and taking a seat beside Stiles on the bed.  He captures Stiles' hand in his, stroking his thumb along the boy's knuckles.  Stiles sighs a breath of relief.

"What happened to me?"  He asks confused, scrutinizing his wrists where the leather's rubbed him red.

Derek describes the last few days to the best of his ability, leaving nothing out.  Stiles deserves to know what happened to him, even if the truth might hurt.

"Shit."  Stiles runs a hand through his hair when Derek finishes.  "The Alpha said something like that would happen, but honestly, I'm not sure you'll believe the whole story.  _I_ still don't believe it."

"Try me."  Dr. Ito says, sitting down in the chair beside the bed.

And Stiles does, explaining exactly what happened to him, from the time he was dragged out of Beacon Hills, right until the moment Derek rushed into the tent intent of saving him, only to find Stiles saved himself.

"All the rumours circulating the wasteland, I can't believe they're true."  Dr Ito remarks with an air of disbelief. 

Stiles frowns, and he grips Derek's hand tighter, his hand shaking.  "What happens now?  Will I still need the pills?"

"Doubt it.  Whatever that blue substance was, it screwed with your systems and the pills righted it.  Now that it's purged from your body, you should function normally."

"But what the fuck is _normal_?"  Stiles asks, his voice rising.  He grasps at his stomach in desperation, fabric bunching in his fingers.  "I have a fucking womb.  I go into heat like a bitch, how the hell is that normal?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't have all the answers."  Dr Ito rises.  "I did my job now get him out of here, Derek, bring him back when he's calmed down.  I need to run more tests."  And she walks away, slamming the door to the machine room shut behind her.

Stiles stares down at his belly.  "Did you know people used to deny that the world was getting warmer?  Even though they were faced with the truth: rising oceans, droughts, longer and hotter summers.  Humans just have this tendency to deny painful truths lying right in front of them, even when they are plain to see."  Stiles sighs.  "So what if I was hornier than usual a few days each month?  It didn't mean anything that it was easier to finger myself those days.  Boy, was I wrong."

Stiles slumps over, defeated, but Derek pulls him to his feet.  "Come on, I know what will help." 

***

"You're right, this does make me feel better."  Stiles squeezes off a few rounds into the chalk boulders, a cloud of white rising in the air, swirling in the wind.

"Are you sure never used a gun before?"  Derek asks, smiling, as Stiles shakes his head.  "Must be beginner's luck."

 

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/120914731362/art-for-chapter-ten-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

"Dude, my mom taught me how to use a crossbow when I was just a kid, I just have to get used to the different kind of kick."  Stiles says, squeezing the trigger, hitting near center on the red bull's-eye Derek drew on the wall with ochre.  Stiles inches closer to the innermost circle every time he fires off a round. 

The first time Derek used a gun, he didn't understand how to draw experience from missed shots and adjust his aim accordingly.  Stiles' mother must have been an amazing teacher. 

"She was the Sheriff before she died and my dad was elected to replace her."  Stiles explains.

"How did she...?  If you don't mind me asking."

Stiles waves his worries away. "I don't mind, it was a long time ago.  Besides, I want you to know about her, she's important to me." Stiles sends him a soft smile, before it fades away, replaced by grief.  "Skin cancer.  Inoperable, Deaton couldn't help.  It already spread to her blood by the time we noticed anything was wrong."

"My grandmother had breast cancer."  Derek recounts, squinting up into the sun. "But the fire killed her before the tumours could.".

Derek finds himself opening up, talking about the fire for the first time in many years. "I was sixteen, and raiders lit my family's homestead on fire, with almost everyone inside the farmhouse.  Only my uncle Peter, my sister Laura, and I survived."  Derek runs his fingers through his beard nervously, he's never told anyone about the circumstances surrounding Laura's death, but he wants to tell Stiles.  He wants Stiles to know all about him, including the situations that shaped him into the man he is today.

"A few years later, Peter murdered Laura."  Derek says, and Stiles' eyes grow wide.  He flips the safety on the gun, before pulling Derek into a tight hug.  Derek finds his stiffened limbs, tense after talk about his family, relax under Stiles soft ministrations. Derek tucks his face into Stiles' neck, tears falling, wetting Stiles' sweaty skin as the boy rubs his shoulder in comfort, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear.  Already, Derek feels so much better.

"Look at me," Derek laughs wetly. "Crying like a child."

"Listen here, Derek Hale, and listen closely."  Stiles threads his fingers through Derek's hair, pulling him away so they can look at each other.  "Crying does not make you any less of a man.  In fact I wonder upon the soullessness of a man who doesn't cry.  So you go right ahead, rest your gorgeous face upon my shoulder, and smear your manly snot all over my neck.  Claim me as yours, you snotty caveman you."

Derek blinks. "Well, that took a dirty turn." He quirks his brow at Stiles.

"God, can you blame me?  You're crazy hot.  And for some godforsaken reason, your hotness all teary-eyed up in my business really turns me on."

Derek quirks a brow.  "Yeah?"

"Oh, fuck yeah." Stiles leans in for a long, lingering kiss. Lips chapped, and delicious. He tastes vaguely stale as Derek licks into his mouth, but he doesn't give a shit.  Only a few days ago he worried he would never get to kiss Stiles again.  But now, look at them, making out like teenagers.  Derek feels himself harden as Stiles pushes him back into the shade of the chalk boulder until his back meets solid rock.

Stiles tucks the gun back into his holster, smirking.  "I do believe you already got the pleasure of doing this."  Stiles winks, and yeah, that's him, sliding to his knees, gazing right up at Derek as he undoes his belt, eyes full of love and mischief, not a trace of unawareness in sight.  Derek feels a warm thrum of fondness for this boy run through his heart.  His fingers trace Stiles' brow until he affectionately nudges Derek's fingers with his nose, blinking big honey eyes full of trust.

Derek recalls the first time he blew Stiles, and the moment couldn't be even more different.  Stiles is inexperienced, so his sucking is shallow, but what he can't do with his throat, he makes up with his hands.  Tugging foreskin up and down as he sucks at the head, drawing whimpering moans out of Derek. 

It's sloppy but perfect, and he groans when Stiles swirls his tongue in the slit, light suction stimulating him more.  Derek's eyes roll back in his head, and he tugs Stiles off of him, his cock popping free of his mouth with an obscene sound.  Stiles continues to stroke him, as Derek's head falls back against the warm stone and he comes in spurts, white come falling into the sand at Stiles' knees.

"Wow."  Stiles says, breaking the silence, head leaning against Derek's thingh.  "We need to do that more often."  He tucks Derek back into his pants, zipping him up.  "You're so beautiful when you're all strung out."  Derek just nods, and pulls Stiles to his feet.  Tugging him closer, Derek grabs his ass and Stiles squeaks as he gropes the tight muscle.  Stiles whimpers, but pulls away from Derek when he goes for his belt to return the favour. 

"Nope," Stiles grins, his expression turning devious.  "This wasn't about the sex, it was about the sun."  He says, sarcasm dripping from his voice.  "The hot midday light just needed something to make it more." 

Derek slaps Stiles' ass and the boy squeaks.  "Ha ha, very funny, fuck you."

"I know you want it, but these buns aren't for you." Stiles says, slowly backing away, a crooked grin gracing his soft mouth.  "They're for the sun."

"Come here, you little shit." Derek growls, and Stiles laughs, taking off in a running sprint.  Derek chases after him, but Stiles is fast like the fucking wind, long legs according him an advantage, and he gives Derek a run for his money.

Derek doesn't manage to catch him, but he gets his revenge later on in the evening. 

Sitting on a cot, he cleans the built up sand from the Desert Eagle, gazing smouldering into Stiles' eyes as he works, making sure to flex his arms more than strictly necessary, while Dr Ito draws blood.  Stiles glares daggers at Derek, trying not to look at the needle in his arm, sheets bunched up high in his lap.

Dr. Ito just rolls her eyes.

"There, done."  She extracts the needle.  "I'll let you know if everything's clear in a few hours."  She tells Stiles, handing him a ball of cotton and sticking plaster.  Swerving to face Derek she caps the needle, "Miss Martin wants to see you."

Derek stand, nodding.  He tucks the gun back in its holster, smirking when Stiles follows his smooth movements, blushing furiously.  Derek feels himself grin like an idiot, and he walks over to Stiles, clutching him by the back of his neck.  Closing his eyes, he leans his forehead against Stiles', feeling hands grasp around his biceps in turn.

Derek presses a soft kiss to the side of Stiles' mouth, feeling the boy's mouth turn in a smile.  "Love you."  Stiles whispers in Derek's ear, before he pulls back and Derek smiles, walking away, sensing the ghost of Stiles' gaze on his back as he treads through the dim rock corridors of the post.

Allison's already sitting in one of the chairs opposite Lydia, when he opens the door to Lydia's office, her compound bow, leaning against the metal seat.  If there's one thing he's learned about Allison, it's that she takes her bow absolutely everywhere.

"What do you want?"  He asks Lydia, trying not to appear too impatient even though he wants to get back to Stiles as fast as possible.  He almost feels like a teenage again crushing on the tanner's daughter, Paige.  Even though what he feels for Stiles is so much more than a simple crush.

"I've offered Allison a job."  Lydia announces, and Derek turns to Allison, his eyebrow raised.

"The pay is good."  She explains.

"You're father's rich."  Derek remarks, confused.

"I'm not though.  I plan on asking Scott to marry me.  He already has a good job, I just need to save up enough for Melissa to accept me as good spouse for her son."

Great, now Derek's wondering about Stiles' father.  Derek's eleven years older than Stiles, and he sure as fuck doesn't think the Sheriff would accept a man known as the Feral Wolf for his son.  But then again, he was pretty damn calm when he found out Derek slept in Stiles' room the morning after he was taken.  He did have other, more pressing things on his mind, and he did depend on Derek to get Stiles back.  So really, Derek has no idea how the Sheriff will act when Derek goes to him stating his intentions towards his son.

If Stiles will even still want him after a year.

Sullenly, he takes a seat beside Allison.

Lydia quirks a brow at his sudden shift in mood.  "She'll be your partner for the year."  Lydia pulls a map out from a drawer in her desk.  "I have investments in the north.  Miners."  She says, pointing to an area near the northwest coast.  "I need you to organize a system of routes, protecting my products from raider assaults and the environment."

"What will I be transporting?"  He pulls the map closer to him, studying the area.  He's been that far up north only a few times.  It's full of dried forests.  Only a few thousand year old mummified redwoods remain standing, used as shelters for the people living there.

"Gold."  Lydia states bluntly.  "Do you even know why the worth of gold is so steadily increasing?  It's because I made it so.  I need gold in my technology, it's the most efficient way to conduct electricity and it doesn't corrode in the elements like copper.  We need it if humans are ever going to survive, because one day, Derek, the wells are going to run dry.  Technology is necessary so we do not go extinct."

Derek remembers what Stiles told him, how the Alphas were guaranteeing their own survival through evolution and breeding, trying the make the perfect humanoid being able to survive out in the wasteland.  Lydia's doing the same thing, but in a very different way.  Trying to survive in hell, while making sure the human race doesn't die out.

Derek nods.  "How much have you worked out so far?"

Lydia's just about to answer, when a wailing siren echoes and she stiffens in her seat

"What is that?"  Allison asks, her fingers clenching around her bow.

Derek doesn't answer, he draws his gun, pointing it towards the door just as it's kicked open, a man with a rifle busts through in a cloud of dark smoke.  Derek shoots at him, and he falls to the ground, but then cool metal is placed at his neck and he freezes.

"Drop your gun."  A cold feminine voice commands, and Derek weighs his options, placing his gun at his feet, raising his hands in the air.  "Good, now stand up."  The woman orders, and Derek does, his eyes fixed on Lydia, he nods almost imperceptibly, hoping she gets his message. 

Evidently she does, because the next thing he knows, the woman lies on the ground, grasping her bleeding leg where Lydia shot her with the pistol she keeps strapped under her desk.

Lydia strides over to the woman's writhing form.  Derek picks his Desert Eagle up from the ground as Lydia removes the gun from the woman's hand, she pulls out the magazine tossing it to the side along with the metal body.

"Who are you?"  Lydia demands, standing above the woman.  She doesn't answer, and Lydia growls, placing the heel of her boot on the wound, grinding down.  The woman shrieks in pain.  "Who the fuck are you?"  Lydia exclaims enraged.

"Death to the Omega."  The woman snarls, reaching into her jacket, but before she can pull out the gun undoubtedly lying underneath, an arrow buries in her chest.  Blood bubbles out of her mouth and she gasps her dying breath.

Derek climbs to his feet, shocked, as Lydia folds her arms, glaring down at the bodies littering her office.  She turns to Allison, and pushes back the hair from her face, resting a hand on her hip, looking Allison up and down.  "So, how do you feel about tits?"

Allison just gapes, but her cheeks flush.  "I have a boyfriend."

"If that's your only reason not to, I have a really big bed, I'm sure the four of us can fit."

"Four..."  Allison murmurs.  "Oh, god."

It's them, the group that's going around the wasteland killing Omegas.  And they're here for Stiles. 

Derek takes off like the wind, running out of the office as fast as he can.  Allison's voice calling after him. 

The corridors are full of guards rushing about, but Derek runs in the opposite direction.  They're heading out to neutralize the threat.  Derek's going to protect Stiles if they don't succeed.  The infirmary doesn't have any weapons, and unless Stiles is able to ward off an attacker with a scalpel, he's defenceless.  With that thought in mind, Derek runs faster.

Dr. Ito lays still, collapsed on the ground outside the doors of the infirmary, charts scattered all around her.  Derek quickly bends down, checking her pulse.  She's just knocked unconscious, no doubt so a guard wouldn't be drawn to the sound of gunfire. 

They're already here, inside with Stiles.  And if Dr. Ito is to be believed, they want Stiles dead.

Derek grips his gun tighter, preparing himself for whatever he might find.

He cracks open the door, waiting a few moments before rushing in. 

What he finds makes his jaw drop in shock.

"Peter."  Derek gasps.

His uncle.  The man he hasn't seen in years, turns to him with a sardonic smirk.  "You've gained notoriety out on the wasteland, nephew.  _The Feral Wolf_.  And yet, you're one of the most level headed men I know.  Strange isn't it?"

Derek growls.  "You're the one who got all the crazy in the family, Peter."

"Now that's just rude."

"It's the fucking truth."  Derek eyes the gun in Peter's hand, before drifting away, meeting Stiles' terrified gaze, he tries to reassure the boy with his eyes, but Stiles must see something in them that scares him because he shrinks even further in on himself.

Stiles has had too many guns pointed at him in a few weeks than anyone really needs in a lifetime.

"Anyway."  Peter doesn't even turn away from Stiles to face him, he holds a gun, pointing it right at the boy, not even a trace of mercy in his expression.  "You're just in time."  He drawls, cocking the gun.

"No!"  Derek yells, jumping right in between Peter and Stiles, blocking him from view.

Peter sighs.  "Move Derek."

"Fuck you."  Derek growls, raising his own gun at Peter.

Peter laughs.  "You're not going to shoot me.  You don't have it in you.  If you did, you would've when you found Laura.

And then everything clicks.

Peter grins.  "Oh Der-bear's finally getting it."

"Laura."  Derek breathes. 

"She was a monster too.  Can't you see, Derek?  The abominations must die.  His kind are the reason our whole family is gone.  Don't you remember the men?  I can't forget them, they haunt my fucking dreams."  Peter whispers darkly, his eyes going unfocused before they snap back to Derek.  "Seven feet tall with torches in their hands.  They were Alphas, and they murdered my Sonya just because they wanted Laura.

"But the men found me and helped me, got me out of the funk I was in.  You know me, I was at the bottom of a bottle on good days."  Peter scowls.  "They explained, it was Laura's kind, the fast healers, the Omegas who had the potential to birth the monsters that killed my wife.  I did Laura a service, ending her life, saving humanity from her wretched children."

"You're fucking insane."  Stiles spits, and Peter's eyes move from Derek, narrowing in on him.  "You fucking piece of shit, you killed your own niece-"

Peter interrupts him like Stiles doesn't even register as a person.  "Our family, the people we love.  _My Sonya_ is dead because abominations like this thing exist." 

"Sonya's dead because a bunch of men wanted our land."

Peter shakes his head.  "No, no, no.  They wanted Laura."

"Peter."  Derek begs.  "They wouldn't have set the house on fire it that was the case, it might've killed Laura."

"No!"  Peter screams, clutching a hand into his hair.  He's unhinged.  Anger and desire for revenge clouding his judgement.  "Move Derek."

Derek stands unwavering.

 

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/120914780272/art-for-chapter-ten-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

"Derek, move out of the way, stop protecting him."  The gun shakes.  Peter appears hesitant to pop Derek full of holes, probably for the same reason Derek was unwilling to kill Peter five years ago.

They're the only family the other has left.

"You're just fucking him, he isn't family.  Der-bear c'mon."

"Don't fucking call me that."  Derek hisses, his eyes narrowing.

Peter frowns, puzzled.  Tears descend down his cheeks, as he stares imploringly at Derek.  "I've always called you that."  He insists.

"That was when you were my uncle Peter.  The man who taught me how to lasso a calf.  My uncle Peter who used to read me and my sisters bedtime stores.  My uncle Peter who would've rather died before he hurt any of us!"  Derek screams.  "You stopped being that man the day you sawed Laura in half and left her for me to find!  You're nothing to me now."  He snarls.

Peter points to Stiles.  "He's not your blood, Derek.  One day he's going to abandon you too, it's in their nature.  They're not human."  

"Stiles is more human than you."

Peter stares at him, before his expression goes so blank it's like someone took a cloth and wiped any remaining humanity right out of Derek's uncle. 

Peter squeezes the trigger, and before Derek knows it, he's flying, Stiles having tackled him from the side.  He hears a deafening noise and feels the burn of a bullet as it scrapes his arm.  The two of them fall to the ground in a tangled pile of limbs and Derek cracks his head on the side of a cot.  His vision erupts in stars, and he feels Stiles pull the gun from his hand.

His sight clears to Stiles shooting at Peter, but his uncle ducks behind a cot, and Stiles doesn't hit him.  Derek grabs at his arm, it isn't bleeding a lot, but it stings like a motherfucker.  "Derek?  Derek?!"  Stiles asks panicked, not looking at him, focused on shooting at Peter, every time his uncle even pokes his head up, but he nudges Derek with a foot, probably checking if Peter's bullet made it's mark.

"I'm fine."  Derek hisses, the cut will need stitches, but right now he has more important things to focus on.  He reaches into his pocket.  Pulling another magazine out, he tosses it at Stiles.

"Derek!"  Peter yells.  "Give him to me, he needs to die, but you don't!"

Derek doesn't even grace that with an answer.  He's half confused and delirious, he doesn't _want_ to kill Peter.  But he's also determined, he will if he fucking has to.  And right now, everything looking rather grim.  This time Peter won't be walking off into the horizon, only a bag on his shoulder, tears streaming down Derek's cheeks as he watches, kneeling down beside his sister's body.

He will end Peter before he even attempts do that to Stiles, or so help him god, he will die trying.

Shots ring against the metal of the bed they're hiding behind and a gnome shatters, sprinkling them with centuries old terracotta, until Peter growls with fury and a heavy thump sounds as he tosses his empty gun away.  It sounds like a choir of angels to Derek.

He makes to crawl around the bed, but Stiles grabs his arm, whispering furiously.  "He could be bluffing."

"Cover me."  Derek just says, pulling out of Stiles grasp, crawling and ducking behind cover at any movement as he makes his way over to Peter's hiding place, hand resting on the handle of his knife, just about to draw it out.

Peter rushes out with a deafening roar and grabs him around the middle, driving him into the ground with a slam.  He fights like he's possessed.  Kicking out at Derek, biting and scratching like a fucking demon.  He twists and elbows Derek hard in the face, splitting his lip.  Derek tastes warm iron as blood floods his mouth.  He hawks a wad of bloody spit at Peter, distracting him for a second when it meets his eye. 

But not for long enough.  Peter kicks him in the stomach, and pulls the combat knife out of Derek's sheath.  Standing above him, with tears in his eyes, Peter stares down, stricken.  "Why, Derek?  Why'd you choose him?"

Derek holds his uncle's gaze, unwavering.  "Because I love him like you love Sonya."

Tears flood from Peter's eyes as he raises the knife above his head.  He's just about to plunge it into Derek's chest, when Peter's body jerks as a bullet fires into the meat of him.  He stumbles back, hand clenching at the wound, tipping as he falls to his knees.  Stiles walks closer and pulls Derek to his feet, handing him the gun wordlessly as he moves over to the side, giving Derek room.

He could just let Peter die from the wound Stiles inflicted.  It obviously nicked a lung, Derek notices as Peter tries to draw in a sucking breath of agony, but fails.  He stares at Derek with eyes full of fear and loss and Derek gazes right back.  He knows he can't let Peter go this time.  It's either Stiles or him.

And Derek chooses Stiles.

Fat tears build up in Peter's eyes. "I love you." Peter murmurs. "Derek-"

"I love you, too," Derek interrupts, and shoots him again.

He slides the Desert Eagle back in the holster, and kneels at Peter's side, watching as Peter breathes his final breath, his wife's name on his lips.  Derek places his hand on Peter's chest until he feels his uncle's heart slow, slow, slow until it beats no more.  Stiles rests his hand on Derek's shoulder.

"Thank you."  He says simply, and Derek closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of gunpowder in the air.

Everything will be alright.

***

He buries Peter himself, away from the mass grave dug for his comrades and the guards who died in the assault.

Derek buries Peter on the wasteland beside the same highway stretching from one salted ocean to another.  The same highway he buried Laura beside so many years ago.

Stiles stands by his side as he shovels the last heap of dirt over the grave, smoothing it down with the shovel.  He moves away and Stiles takes his dirty hand in his clean one.

"Did you want to say a few words?"  Stiles asks.

Derek spits on Peter's grave.  Watching his saliva soak into the thirsty earth, almost like Peter's accepting his ire, Derek says, "I hope you find aunt Sonya."

He turns and walks back to the Jeep gripping Stiles' hand tight in his.

On the short drive back to the post, Stiles breaks the sombre silence.  "Allison tells me you two are not coming back to Beacon Hills."

Derek just nods his head, looking out the window.

"What about Erica and Boyd?"  Stiles asks and Derek turns back to him.

"I've written letters for you to give them."  Derek bunches his hands in fists on his thighs.

"Ah."  Stiles says, staring out the windshield as he drives.  The boy gulps, his throat bobbing as Derek studies his features in the light from the setting sun.  His eyes tracing over pale skin, and an upturned delicate nose Derek just wants to bite on good days.  "What about me?"  Stiles asks softly, glancing over at Derek, but he looks away, staring down at his fisted hands.

"I'm coming back."  He finally says, gazing back at Stiles.  "I will come back _for you_."

Abruptly, Stiles pulls the Jeep over to the side of the road.

"Get in the back."  He orders, facing Derek a look of determination on his face.

Derek's almost scared to ask.

"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?"  Stiles remarks, undoing his seat belt, reaching over and clicking Derek's too.  "I want you to fuck me."

Derek opens and closes his mouth a few times.  "I'm not going to make love to you for the first time in the back of your mother's Jeep."  He says, scandalized.

Stiles blinks wide honey eyes at him.  "Please?"  He pleads, and Derek sighs, scratching a hand through his beard.

Before Derek buried Peter he looked through his clothes, finding a notebook full of letters written to his dead wife, among notes on Omega's biology.  Showing it to Dr. Ito, who was still woozy after Derek stitched up the cut on her head, she confirmed that most of it must be true since the information correlated with all the tests she ran on Stiles.  From the hormones controlling his heats, to the location and size of the womb, everything making his biology different from that of a regular human.  It even contained notes on heats; how long they lasted, and when he was fertile. 

Derek shudders to think about how Peter came across those particular findings.

Stiles might not be fertile right now, but Derek is absolutely unwilling to take that chance.  Peter's notes also claimed one other frightening thing.  Male Omegas _always_ die during childbirth.  It doesn't matter if the sire is Alpha or human, the child drains the Omega's strength, and as the cherry on top of the sundae, the child has to be cut out, sealing the Omega's fate.

"Do you even have any oil?"  Derek asks, and Stiles nods, reaching over Derek like a goddamn cat, into the glove compartment, pulling out a jar of oil.  He stares unashamed at Stiles' ass through the whole process.  But when Stiles tries handing the oil to Derek, he pushes it back towards him.  "I want you to be on top."  He says and Stiles turns a dark shade of red so fast Derek laughs. 

"You do realize this is going to be over in a snap, right?"

"I don't mind."  Derek grins and Stiles smirks. 

"Then get back there so we can bump nasties."

Derek snorts at Stiles' ridiculousness, but still climbs into the back as fast as he can, Stiles following after, only once thumping his head against the roll bars.

Derek undoes the button on his jeans, pushing them down, watching Stiles as he too removes his clothes.  The whole business is awkward as fuck, there's hardly any room to move and they both keep accidentally hitting or kneeing each other, whispering giggling apologies.

Derek wouldn't change it for the world.

Once Stiles is naked, and Derek's still tugging off the laces of his fucking boots, pants around his ankles, Stiles strokes his own cock, watching him fumble with heavily lidded eyes.  Derek raises his brow in wonder.  "Is this actually turning you on?"

"Like you'll never believe."  Stiles says, his voice tight as his hand moves up and down his shaft.

Derek rolls his eyes.  "Maybe you could help."  Stiles groans in frustration, tackling his other boot.  Somehow he still manages to take the boot off before Derek manages his.

Derek should really think about buying a different pair, maybe one with a zipper.

With their clothes tossed into the front, Stiles slides over Derek, meeting him for a soft kiss which eventually deepens to tongues and teeth and lips, biting and sucking, until the two of them are reduced to breathless panting and desperate moans.

Stiles touches Derek's jaw, resting his forehead against his, he stares into Derek's eyes.  "What do you want?"  He asks, murmuring like if Derek wanted the fucking universe Stiles would hand it to him on a silver platter.

"I want you."  Derek demands, taking Stiles' hand, moving it down to his hole.  "Touch me."  He says, and Stiles does.  Opening the jar of what smells like linseed oil, Stiles dips his fingers in, smearing the warm oil on his skin.  Derek lifts his legs higher for easier access and Stiles groans.

"Fuck, Derek, you look so damned gorgeous."  Stiles slips a finger in past tight muscle, thrusting his finger few times before he works in another.  Derek grabs Stiles cock, moving the foreskin over the head, before Stiles stops him.  "I will seriously blow if you don't stop that right now, and we haven't even gotten to the fun part yet."  Derek grins, but he lets go, watching Stiles' erection bounce, he's so fucking hard.

Stiles makes it to three fingers, and Derek's so prepped Stiles could easily fit his pinkie in if he wanted to.  "Come on."  Derek says, knocking away Stiles' fingers.  "Let me ride you, okay?"  He asks.  There's absolutely no room in the Jeep for missionary.  Stiles nods, eyes wide, and they flip positions.  Thankfully bumping heads only once, but Derek's so hard from the prolonged fingering, Stiles' fingers teasing along his prostate, he really couldn't care less about a bruised ego or two.

Stiles lies on his back on a threadbare blanket as Derek holds Stiles' cock, lowering himself onto him.  He hasn't had another man's dick inside him in a very long time.  Trust never came easy to him after Peter, and well, anything more than a blowjob takes a hell of a lot of trust.

Derek moves down slowly, until he feels Stiles' balls against his ass cheeks.  Stiles' hands digging into his waist, staring up at him in wonder.  Derek bends, placing a gentle kiss against his mouth as he thrusts his hips, catching the moan pouring from Stiles' mouth with his lips.  Derek sits back and just goes to town.

Rocking his hips, he rests his palms against Stiles' pecs as he moves, setting a rhythm for them, meeting his thrusts.  Derek carefully watches Stiles' facial expressions until only a minute later, the boy's eyes roll back in his head, and his movements stutter, his fingers digging almost painfully into Derek's hips.  Derek keeps up the rhythm of his hips until Stiles taps him on the belly and he pulls off.

Immediately, in a show of surprising dexterity Stiles flips him back on his back and Derek finds his hard cock engulfed in wet heat, as Stiles sucks and moves his hands.  He tries swallowing Derek, but chokes, pulling off with a sheepish smile.  Derek just smiles fondly, rubbing his thumb over Stiles' cheekbone.  Eventually, Derek feels himself nearing completion and he tugs at Stiles ear, urging him to pull off, but the boy just bats his hand away, quickening his rhythm.

Derek comes with a loud cry of Stiles' name and the boy closes his eyes, brow furrowed, but he doesn't pull off until Derek squeezes his eyes shut and thumps his head back against the floor of the Jeep.  Derek cracks his eyes open, finding Stiles leaning over him with come smeared on the side of his lip.  Derek grabs at him, pulling him down, sweaty bodies entangled together as Derek kisses him passionately, tasting himself on Stiles' tongue and not giving a single fuck.

Later, Stiles sits in Derek's lap, running long fingers through his beard.  Derek hasn't shaved in fucking forever, but Stiles doesn't seem to mind, going by how often he touches the stubble burn on his own neck.

"This isn't 'goodbye' sex, this is 'I'll see you in a year' sex.  There's a difference."  He explains to Derek.

"Yeah?"  Derek quirks a brow.  "And what, pray tell, is the difference?"

Stiles leans closer, shifting in Derek's lap, whispering,  "If we were having 'goodbye' sex you would be ploughing my ass right now, but alas,"  Stiles lifts himself off, moving to sit beside Derek.  "This is only 'I'll see you in a year' sex, so I'll save that for next time."

"Cheeky."  Derek slaps Stiles' butt.

Stiles winks, rubbing his slightly pinker cheek.  "You love it."

"No, I love you, there's a difference."

Stiles presses his lips against Derek's forehead.  "And I love you."  Stiles lies down beside him, lifting up his arm, he tucks himself under, fingers running through the hair on Derek's chest, occasionally ghosting over his nipples.

"How old are you?  I don't think I've ever asked before."  Stiles questions, fascinated with a whorl of hair he keeps tracing over and over.

Derek sighs.  "I'm twenty-eight."  Stiles raises his brow, obviously surprised.  "Is that a problem?"  Derek asks carefully.

"Hmm, eleven years, that does seem problematic."  Stiles states sarcastically.  "What happens when you can't get it up anymore?" 

Derek thumbs Stiles' cheekbone, holding his gaze.  "You plan on spending that long with me?"

Stiles looks at him like he's an idiot.  "Derek, I want you so long as you'll have me.  You idiot."  He adds, grinning. 

Derek presses in for a kiss.  "Mmm, but what happens when you lose all your hair?"  He scratches his fingers through Stiles' buzz.  "It's my favourite thing about you."

"Really?  Your favourite?"

"Yeah.  That, and your moles."

"Hmm, I like your cock the best."

"Asshole."

Stiles places his hand against his mouth.  "Is that all I am to you?"  He says with mock outrage.

Derek rolls his eyes.  "Will you wait for me?"  He asks all seriousness, and Stiles stares into his eyes, trying and succeeding in conveying everything he feels for Derek.

"Forever."  He finally says.

And Derek believes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure a lot of you saw Peter coming, the Alphas were Stiles' demons, Peter was Derek's.
> 
> astrangelady mentioned wanting to see how Lydia looked back in chapter 7, and I just couldn't get this image of her with c-bridge spectacles out of my mind...
> 
> I'm going back and editing everything, but the final chapter should be up in a week if I manage finish all the art I have planned for it.
> 
> Oh, and if you guys want to see a character drawn for the last chapter tell me now or forever hold your peace ;), I'm already planning art of Allison and the Sheriff, but I still need to decide on one more character I haven't already drawn before...
> 
> Annnd I don't think this needs saying, but don't have sex after digging a grave.... ew...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, sorry it's a bit late, but it's done. DONE. Yay!
> 
> Oh, and mind the new tag.

"I don't think I could handle an infection, you know what I mean?  I know I got shot and all, but that's different, an infection is a whole other story."  Stiles rambles worriedly as Deaton pokes at the area around his lower abdomen, wearing an expression of intense concentration.  It's been a few months and the scar has almost faded by now, a product of his Omega fast healing and the salves Stiles spreads on the wound.  "An infection involves pus, and pus is just absolutely disgusting."

"Stiles."  Deaton looks up, frowning his displeasure at Stiles' rambling mouth.  "Shut up and let me work."

Stiles closes his mouth with a snap.

Isaac underwent the same procedure a month after Stiles even though technically, it's useless to him.  He's straight as a pole and ridiculously in love with one of Danny's drivers, a strong armed redheaded woman who scares the crap of out Stiles on account of the sawed off shotgun she likes to keep strapped to her back.  Not at all because of the habit she has of picking her teeth, and eyeing Stiles like a piece of meat.

But what can Stiles do?  Isaac's in love.

The procedure's a stark reminder that even though all is well, anything can happen on the wasteland.  The Colony was decimated when raiders took it from under the remaining few talcum men and found the cinnabar deposits contaminating the water, leaving the condemned city to fall into ruin.  The talcum men scattered into the wasteland like drones with no hive to call home.

And yet, there will always be Alphas, ready to steal them away and succeed when the others failed.  Lydia's been keeping her ear to the ground, listening for rumours.  Luckily, they've been distant.  She's told him about groups of tall men and women living so far south the earth freezes for half the year, but that's all they are, rumours.  And even if they do exist, they are much too far away to be any cause of concern. 

But still, the wasteland is unpredictable.  Empires rise and fall, loyalties change, wells run dry, and so on. 

So, Isaac undergoes the procedure a month after Stiles offered to go first as a test subject.  If Stiles died Isaac wouldn't suffer the same fate.  But, so far, everything's been alright.  He still gets heats, but they are as they've always been, before the blue substance and Alphas fucked up his life.  Mild, and comparable to bouts of intense horniness, made worse by him missing Derek like burning.

On that topic. 

Derek's late.  By two whole months.

Lydia doesn't have contact with him, he's out of her range of radio communication, and as far and they both know, Derek is so far north the ground is permanently frozen, arranging for the last shipment of gold to be sent down south.

Stiles hopes Allison and Derek were held up somewhere, and not lying dead in a ditch.

"Ow."  Stiles complains when Deaton prods just a little bit too sharply.  The man doesn't even apologize even after Stiles managed to find him a whole collection of old medical texts on one of his raids.  So ungrateful.

"Everything seems fine."  Deaton announces.  "The tissue's healing right, and the clips I put in place are still there."

"Awesome.  A pus free Stiles is a happy Stiles."  He rises from the cot as Deaton walks to his desk.  Stiles tugs on his shirt, joining the doctor as he pushes through the stacks of paper crowding the surface.

"You'll need to come back for another check-up in a few months, preferably before you become sexually active again."  Deaton sends Stiles a sympathetic look.  Stiles clenches his fist on his knees.  "I've only ever performed this procedure on women, and I don't know how it'll react to your healing." 

Stiles doesn't say a word when Deaton finishes, he just stands and leaves.  Derek is due back any day, but people are already acting like he's dead.  It frustrates Stiles to no end.  He walks dejectedly back to his rooms, a cold, heavy weight settling in his stomach.

***

Stiles loads the last of the equipment into the Jeep when Erica joins him, tossing her duffle the back, rifle slung on her shoulder.

Stiles raises a brow.  "Are you sure?"  He asks sceptically.  

Erica rolls her eyes.  "I'm not going to sit on my ass anymore, Stiles, it's not like I'm nine months gone.  Besides, I'm more stressed out at home with Boyd waiting on me hand and foot, it's getting on my nerves."

Stiles cracks a smile and Erica grins right back.

The day Stiles was sterilized, Deaton performed a similar surgery on Erica.  But while Stiles had his Omega equivalent fallopian tubes cut and tied, Erica had hers repaired.

When Erica lost her first child violently, her reproductive system was damaged.  A shard of glass was wedged in her abdomen, and when it was removed, it severed her fallopian tubes.  Deaton managed to repair what was damaged.

And it worked. 

Just a week before today, while Stiles delivered a shipment of books to the infirmary, he came across Melissa hugging a sobbing Erica.  A brilliant smile spread out on her face while Erica cried.  It was a puzzling sight to say the least, and when Stiles went over to the two women, asking what was wrong, glaring at Melissa for distressing his friend, Erica pushed him away.  With tears streaming down her face, and a wide grin she said, "I'm not crying, you shithead.  I'm fucking happy."

 

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/122270665657/art-for-final-chapter-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

And then she told him she was pregnant. 

Needless to say, Stiles grabbed her by the arms and swung her around in circles, laughing and crying, before bumping into a silent but amused Boyd.  Stiles didn't stop there, though.  He grabbed Boyd by the lapels and pulled him down for a smacking congratulatory kiss on the lips, before pulling Erica into a similar one.  He settled for kissing Melissa on the cheek, since his dad would skin his hide if he put his lips anywhere near hers. And it would be weird.

Stiles is going to spoil their kid rotten. 

"Besides."  Erica says, drawing him out of his musings.  "You're my partner, and what sort of partner would I be to let you go without backup."

"I could take Boyd."  Stiles argues and Erica snorts.

"The solar power system Lydia promised came in yesterday, and my dutiful husband is too busy setting it up to be bothered.

Stiles brightens.  "That must mean Isaac's here?" 

"Yes."  She pushes him to the driver's side.  "And you'll see him when you get back, right now we have a job to do, so let's get to it."

The gate opens for them and Erica adjusts the side mirror, no doubt watching the group installing the long black tubes on the uppermost level of the town.  Water from the aquifer will be pumped through the tubes, heat under the sun, then flow to the recently built generator in the lower levels.  Providing a measly amount of electricity compared to the system Lydia has set up in her post.  But even a little bit is enough to power a water filtration system, keeping the source of their livelihood, clean and fresh for generations to come.

"According to Lydia's directions, we're driving south for the day.  We should hit the ruins by nightfall."  Stiles says, tapping the sheet of paper lying on the console.  Erica picks it up, scanning the lines of instructions.

"She wants us to go in after dark?"  Erica asks sceptically, a brow raised.

"It's not abandoned, raiders occupy the ruin."  Erica purses her lips at his words.  "But luckily, they will be out on the wasteland at night."

Erica nods her head and slump back in the seat, her hand resting on the holster holding her 9 mm.  "Wake me up when you need something for me to shoot at."  She grabs a straw hat from the back, tilting it over her head, blocking the light of the sun, settling into the squeaking seat.

"Will do."  Stiles grins, and cracks the radio on low.  They should have a signal for a few more miles, and the rock notes are sure to put her right to sleep.  He drives along the endless highway, watching as the burning sun rises high in the sky.

***

Stiles shakes Erica awake.  The sun has just set, and the ruins of the ancient city are visible in the distance.  It's massive, stretching over miles and miles, peppered with collapsed buildings destroyed by weathering sandstorms.  Precious metal rebar, harvested by the raiders calling the territory their home, stick out like cactus needles in the sand by the thousands.

No one blasts the earth for metal anymore, not when there's always plenty to be found embedded in the concrete of the old cities.  And that's what these raiders do.  By day, mining the cities, blasting the crumbling buildings and extracting the metal.  By night, they seek what they can out on the wasteland. 

While the cities might by a cash crop, they aren't exactly the most sustainable places to live.  Aquifers, if they exist, are often polluted by seepage from the corroding metal they depend on so much.  And it's very hard to find a town willing to sell water, no matter the price.  Water is worth so much more than gold in the south.

Erica wakes, blinking her eyes.  "We here?"  She asks on a yawn, looking around.  Stiles parked in the shadow of a collapsed building, hiding his ostentatious Jeep away from seeking eyes. 

It was hell, trying to remove the spikes littering the roof of the Jeep, and eventually Stiles gave up.  His mother would keel over laughing if she saw what her precious vehicle looked like now.  Like an adorable puppy with sharp teeth.

Stiles hands Erica the binoculars, and she scans the ruins.  They're lit with burning oil fires, casting shadows on the crumbling concrete, black smoke swirling up into the air.  "They haven't left yet."  Stiles states, looking down at the yellowing map Lydia gave him.  It's a few hundred years old and depicts the city of Sacramento, before the world went to shit.

The map is nearly useless to them now.  They won't be able to follow the streets, since most of them must be blocked by rubble, but it does give them some idea of where the library is.  And most importantly, the archives.  That is, if it too hasn't already fallen to ruin.

Stiles hears the rumble of motorbikes before he sees them.  A group of at least twenty ride out of the ruins, weapons raised in the air, cheering and jeering, making for a truly frightening sight.  He's glad he doesn't have to deal with that he thinks as he climbs out of the Jeep.  They're climbing the ruins on foot.  It'll take them a few hours to reach the library, barring any problems, but at least it means there's no risk of popping a tire, stranding them until they fix it.

He opens the back, tossing Erica her rifle and ammo.  She's the muscle in the operation, making sure they get out safe and sound.  Stiles is navigation.  He has the compass and the maps, meaning most of his time will be spent looking down.  Erica's there to make sure he doesn't walk into any open manholes, or a group of remaining raiders.

They've gone on similar raids over the past year.  Lydia provides them with intel;  old maps, rumours, things like that.  And they bring back the goods, ranging from blueprints to manuals and textbooks.  All containing information to better their way of life.  This trip promises blueprints detailing effective water filtration systems they hope to implement in Beacon Hills. 

The moon is rising by the time they sneak into the ruins, fires still burning steadily in huge barrels, lighting their way.  There's nary a person in sight, but Erica doesn't relax her grip for even a second as she scans the area, finally declaring it clear as they hurry through, oil fires eventually fading as they wander further into the city, the ruins growing the deeper they go.

Eventually, Stiles has to light the lantern after he stumbles over a rebar and nearly brains himself on some concrete.  Erica saves him from a concussion at the last second, grabbing the back of his jacket and pulling him back to his feet.  He sends her a grateful smile while she just smirks.

The lantern casts moving shadows on the rubble as they advance through.  Stiles tries not to jump at shadows.  Erica's keeping an ear out for movement, and he lets her do her job.  The first raid they went on involved Stiles pointing out every single shadow out until she eventually grew fed up and smacked him on the back of the head.  He knows what to look out for now.

After an hour of walking south, he signals Erica to stop.  Stiles sits down on some weathered boulders, scanning the area around them. he looks down at his pace counter.  They've covered only a little more than a mile.  Sighing, he scans the rubble while Erica stands at attention. 

She freezes, cocking her head to the side, signalling Stiles who quickly turns off the gas lantern, plunging the area into darkness.  He keeps a sharp ear out, and hears scuffling, Erica shifts her rifle, pointing into the looming darkness of a standing building.  Waiting to see what comes out of the dark exit.

Stiles exhales in relief when a goat wanders out, obviously lost by the way it's bumbling around, bleating and calling for the rest of its tribe.

A heavy body drives into Stiles, knocking the lantern out his arms, scattering the papers and sending him yelling to the ground.  An elbow jabs into his side as he wrestles with his attacker, but they manage to get a hit in, slamming a fist into the side of his face, making him see stars.

Just as sudden, the body's pulled off of him.  Stiles rolls on his side and watches as Erica thumps the butt of her gun into the nose of the attacker, knocking her head back into the dirt.  The woman struggles to get up, but Erica doesn't allow it, she pulls her knife from her holster, and quickly slits the attacker's throat all in one motion.  Stiles looks away as she gasps her dying breath, arterial blood spraying the ground.

Erica grasps him by the hand, pulling him to his feet, slinging her gun back on her shoulder, tucking her knife away after wiping it on the dead woman's clothing, all with an air of such casualness.  That's why he needs Erica.  He would never be able to kill someone so easily.  She's been doing it for so many years, she no longer has to think about it.

"You good?"  She asks, checking him over.  "Can't have Derek come back to find you full of holes."  She swats him on the butt affectionately and Stiles grins, grabbing her by the back of the neck, resting his forehead against hers. 

"Thanks for the save."  He whispers, smiling, before pulling away to gather all his things, scattered during the tussle.

Another hour passes by the time they make it to the half collapsed library, a massive hole makes up most of the wall and the right wing is nothing but pale ruins of metal and stone.  Girders extrude from the stone, rusty bones of a once thriving library.  Stiles hopes the archives are safe from the elements, and that the building won't collapse down upon them.  Small mercies.

The wind whistles through the many glassless windows, adding yet another layer of eeriness on the already dark and creepy building.  He almost hear the ghosts of people roaming the halls.  He's never felt more dwarfed by a structure in his life.

Following the map provided by Lydia, they search for a way down.  A collapsed wall, blocks their path and they're forced to find an alternate route.  The floorboards creak dangerously as Stiles walks along them, so he sticks to the more stable area near the walls, making sure to keep one hand steady just in case he falls.  He doesn't want to land pointy side up on a rebar.

Erica breaks the silence first, calling out to him, and pointing at a set of stairs leading down.  Stiles consults the map, and smiles.  They lead down to the archives.

The basement is musty as fuck and Stiles sneezes when their movements raise clouds of white dust, the crumbled remains of the drywall around them.  When they come across the door they're looking for, Erica studies the lock, dropping to a squat and pulling out a set of lockpicks, setting to work.  Stiles holds the lantern for her, his other hand on her 9mm, ready for anything or anyone who might pop out at them.

The metal door swings open with a loud creak, and Stiles winces as it echoes in the massive basement.  They find themselves in a room containing hundreds of metal boxes, and Stiles breathes a breath of relief.  A month ago the archive they found filed all their papers in cardboard, providing a tasty snack for worms.  There was nothing but dust left.  But now, they might just be able to get what they need from here.  He grins at Erica and they set to work.

Reading the nearly indecipherable faded signs Stiles wanders through the stacks, opening boxes and peeking in, glancing at whatever he can, seeing if it's important enough to bring home.  They won't be able to take everything with them, there's only so much the two of them can carry.  But Stiles looks, reading over building plans, useless to them.  Skyscrapers are pointless when a dust tornado could so easily crumble it to dust.  

Erica calls to him, and his name echoes in the room, he puts the plans back in the box, and tucks them onto the shelf where he found them, navigating his way over to her.

"Found it?"  He asks, looking over the sheets she has spread out on a dusty viewing table, it wobbles whenever they touch it.

"It and more."  She grins, pointing at the stacks of medical journals.  They'll have to sort through them, but he knows what Deaton wants and what is worthless.  One time he found a whole stack of journals detailing cosmetic surgery.  Stiles doesn't understand why someone would want to erase scars or fix a broken nose.  On the wasteland people wear their battle wounds with a sense of pride.  Proof they've been through shit, but are still alive.    

Stiles glances over the blueprints, and even though he can't understand them, he knows they're what he's looking for.  He pulls the bag off his back and starts packing them away as Erica goes through the journals, tossing the ones they don't need aside.  They work efficiently and silently.  Normally Stiles would be trying to fill the empty space with random babblings about what he's reading, but he understands the need for silence, the woman attacking him only a few hours earlier is still fresh in his mind.

When everything they need is packed away they head back upstairs, this time he picks a few interesting books off the shelves, they would be a great addition to the public library he's planning on building separate from the archives.  Some people in Beacon Hills just don't have the connections he does and so don't have access to literature.  Stiles hopes to change that.  He grabs a stack and starts tucking them into his bag.  When Erica sees him, she takes a few with a smile, putting them in her bag, even though she's already got the heavy rifle to carry.

A while ago Stiles asked her why she comes with him on these raids.   She had smiled, explaining Derek taught her to read.  It was then Stiles found out about her life before Derek came across them hitchhiking on the highway. 

And he thought he had it hard in the Colony. 

Erica's been through hell, coming out the other side stronger than ever.  Stiles admires her like a hero, and loves her like a sister.  He can't even imagine his life without her anymore.

She remind him of Derek and god, does he ever miss Derek.

The moon's high in the sky by the time they make it back to the Jeep.  Stiles is exhausted, he's been wide awake for over eighteen hours.  By the time everything's packed away, he's lying with the passenger seat as far back as possible, hands rubbing his shoulder from all the weight he carried.  Stiles is just about ready to drop dead.  He closes his eyes, and feels a cold, yet soft hand run over his cheek.

"Sleep."  Erica says, her voice soothing.  "I'll keep watch until sun up."  Stiles rumbles, shifts in his seat, and allows himself to drift off on thoughts of just how much of an amazing mother Erica is going to be as her soft voice echoes in the confines of the Jeep, humming a rock tune Stiles vaguely recognizes.

***

He wakes to the grumble of the engine as Erica starts the Jeep.  "Have a nice long one, sleepyhead?"

"What's the time?"  Stiles groans, rubbing his eyes, and squinting up at the sky.

"Early morning."  Erica says as she shifts the Jeep to drive, pulling them out of the shadow of the collapsed building, driving towards the highway.

Stiles makes a noise of acknowledgment as he twists around in his seat, pulling a novel out from his rucksack.  It's one of the fiction picks he swept off the self on their way out of the library.  He never really got a chance to see what the title was, well enough, because the hardcover is so worn he wouldn't have been able to read it last night. 

Blowing dust off, sending it swirling into the light of the morning sun, he cracks open the book to find the inner pages remarkably well preserved.  The scent of mustiness brings a smile to his face.

"Good find?"  Erica asks, her eyes on the road.

He flips a few more pages, finding the title page.  " _The Handmaid's Tale_."  Reading the blocky text, he shrugs, "never heard of it,"  but flips to the first page anyway.

Stiles falls into the pages of the novel, as Erica softly sings unrecognizable songs, her long fingers drumming on the steering wheel.  The sun shifts in the sky, and by the time Stiles looks up from the book again, it's nearly evening.  Gazing out the windshield, he spots recognizable rock formations in the distance.  Stretching out his muscles, he places the book carefully on the console.  Rolling down the window, he sticks his head out.  The Jeep is hot and stuffy and he just wants to catch some semblance of a breeze.

Eventually, Erica grabs him by the back of his shirt, tugging him back into the Jeep. 

"Good thing I picked up this one.  It'll make a great addition to the library."  He taps the cover of the novel, feeling some kinship with the dystopian society portrayed within, before cracking on the radio.  Nothing but white noise whistles through.

"Speaking of your library..."  Erica drawls, smiling.

Stiles crosses his legs, shifting as he leans against the door, breeze ruffling his hair.  "I convinced Mayor Yukimura to let me use an empty storage room in the higher levels.  There's lots of natural light, so that's awesome."  He grins thinking about how beautiful the space is going to be.  "Also, I talked to one of the craftsmen.  His daughter loves books, but she's only had her hands on a few.  He's giving me a discount on furniture, chairs and the like.  The shelves are already carved into the walls, so it's not going to dig a huge hole in my coffers."  Erica turns to him, raising her brow.  Stiles frowns, "don't give me that look.  It's my dad's money, and it's not like we're using it." 

He thinks of when Derek kissed him goodbye, as he climbed into one of Lydia's vehicles, ready to head north, saying he wouldn't accept even an ounce of gold from Stiles' dad.  Saying it wouldn't be right now that he wants to spend the rest of his life with Stiles.  He squints into the distance, the black tubes of the solar power system stand in stark contrast to the soft warms colours of the sandstone of Beacon Hills. 

Their radio blares to life and he grins at Erica.  "We're home."

***

Isaac helps him unpack the bags.  He's taking a few of the blueprints to Lydia, things they don't have the infrastructure to even dream of building.  They have the filtration system blueprints and that's all they really need.

Isaac wanted to see his new library, so Stiles gave him the full grand tour: all twelve books of it.  The room is practically empty and Stiles is glad to have more books to add to the collection.  Stiles checks for insects, or mildew, anything that could spread to the rest, while Isaac shelves the approved novels.

"I think Valerie's going to accept my invitation to go on a date."  Isaac says, a shy smile overcoming his features.  It always appears when he talks about his red headed partner.

"She's going to eat you alive."  Stiles snorts.  "Valerie loves the cage fights, you know she's friends with Aiden, he loves beating on people with that prosthetic of his."

Isaac stares off in to the distance, hearts in his eyes.  "I think I love her."

"Dude, I know you do."  Stiles smirks, turning away.  "God knows why."  He whispers under his breath.

"Huh?"

"Nothing."  Stiles mumbles quickly.  "Where do you want to take her?"

Isaac taps a finger against his lips.  "I was thinking either out to dinner, or to the weapons expo the next post over, Danny's going to be there, so we both have to make an appearance, but I was thinking we could maybe take a walk around, try out some of the merchandise."

"Go with the latter option, she's sure to love it."

"You think?"  Isaac asks, chewing his lip.

Stiles thinks about the muscular Valerie, always with a gun or two strapped to her everything, a terrifying glint in her eye.  "Oh yeah.  She's sure to love that much more than dinner."  He guarantees.

So far he hasn't found even a trace of decay in the books, and if everything goes well, he'll have thirteen more novels to add to the library.   

They fall into silence until Isaac clears his throat.  Shifting his feet a bit, he opens and closes his mouth a few times, until finally Stiles tires of his indecision.  "Isaac,"  Stiles says, sighing, "do you have fire ants in your pants, or has my innate twitchiness rubbed off on you?"

"We need to talk about Derek."  Isaac finally says after a long drawn out silence.

Stiles make a face and turns away from his friend, placing a book on the shelf.  He doesn't want to face Isaac, or what is slowly starting to seem like the truth.  "There's nothing to say, he's due back any day."

"Stiles..."  Isaac says his name with such _pity_ in his voice, it raises his hackles.

"I don't want to fucking talk about it!"  Stiles raises his voice, and he doesn't turn around again until he hears the heavy slam of the door as Isaac leaves, no doubt to find Scott and complain about Stiles' short temper.  They've become best friends over the past year, and Stiles tries not to be jealous, but when he sees Scott and Isaac with their heads together, whispering, he can't help it.

He feels so bitter.  No one tries to convince Scott that Allison's gone.  She's Derek's partner, if something happened to him, surely it happened to her too.  He figures everyone thinks he could handle it better than Scott because the shit he's been through, but he knows he can't.  He's guaranteed to be nothing more than a sobbing mess when he accepts what almost everyone is saying. 

So he focuses on other things.  Building the library, improving Beacon Hills for generations to come, anything to draw his mind away from the truth sitting on the horizon.

That Derek's not coming home.

He's months late, and Lydia has no fucking idea where he is.  So Stiles throws himself into his work, finding satisfaction in giving the people he cares about a future worth fighting for.  Making sure Erica and Boyd's child never know the pain their parents suffered. 

Isaac doesn't deserve his wrath, he knows this.  But every single day that ends with an absent Derek, he feels himself fall even further apart.

Placing the last book on the shelf, Stiles sinks to the ground and lets himself have a long, good cry. 

He makes sure everything is wiped away, and straightened out before he leaves the library to find Isaac and apologize.  And just hopefully his eyes aren't as red as he thinks they are.

***

He's supposed to meet his dad down at the tavern for a weekly formal dinner, something they started doing a few months after returning to his home town, but this time he skips.  Stiles climbs up to the battlements in lieu of pretending everything's aright.  His dad would be able to read him like an open book.  And Stiles never liked lying to him after his mom died.

 

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/121080301452/art-for-the-final-chapter-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

Staring out into the wasteland as the sun sets, he watches a dust storm build on the horizon, it's bound to reach Beacon Hills in a few hours.  Stiles moves to sit on the edge, dangling his feet over, feeling the wind sway his pant legs, hat shifting precariously on his head.  He runs his fingers over the scar on his abdomen, it's raised enough he can feel it through his clothes, a cold sharp reality of what he is and what could have been. 

If the Alphas had managed to take him back to the Colony he wouldn't have a simple scar.  He'd be dead. 

He can't help but feel a kinship with Erica.  It's like when Deaton, with a nick of a scalpel prevented a child from ever growing inside him, he gave that power back to Erica.  It's something he can be proud of.  If any  Alphas captured him again he would be useless to them.  Damaged goods, like Erica's tattoos 'marring' her skin.  But to him, he's exactly who was always meant to be.

And if Derek doesn't come back, Stiles will continue to help Beacon Hills, and maybe along the line fall in love again.  He doubts he'll ever want to have children even if he finds a nice enough girl.  He can't risk passing on the Omega genes. 

Stiles wonders if his mother was an Omega too.  She was strong, but wiry.  Tough in bad situations, always able to make the right decision. 

Even if she was an Omega, it doesn't matter.  It doesn't change who she was as a woman, a wife, a mother.  Her accomplishments and strength characterized her, not her ability to produce what the Alphas want so dearly.  Stiles watches the sun set, lighting up the long endless road he hopes to see Derek drive down one day, and he wonders if he's made of the same mettle.

According to Deaton, the Omega reproductive system is still evolving, it is incomplete, and so doesn't function properly, just like the vestigial appendix.  Maybe in a few million years male Omegas will have a complete working reproductive system, until then Stiles is satisfied not dying in childbirth.  Besides, there are always enough orphans running around on the wasteland in need of a good home, a family.

He shifts, feeling the familiar scar tissue pull.  The brand on his arm will never fully heal smooth, but that's alright.  It's a stark reminder of what he's lost.  Heather, his innocence.  And what he's gained.  Derek, bravery, the ability to chew on and spit out whatever ordeals are thrown his way.  Some days when it feels like a heavy weight rests on his shoulders.  When he wishes none of this shit happened, he likes to remember he got something from the experience. 

Stiles is not the same kid who used to play ringers with Scott and Heather in the courtyard, not the same kid who would come up here to look at the stars.  He's different, more hardened.  The expression he wears when he looks in the mirror is resolute.  He's battle worn and tired as shit, and some days he wants to lie down and never get up again, pretend everything was just a bad dream.

But it wasn't.  And he needs to make sure something like this never happens again.

"There you are."  Scott's voice sounds.  "You dad's looking for you." His best friend moves to sit beside him

"Do you ever get this feeling like we're still too young to have so many shitty things happen to us?"  Stiles asks instead of replying, turning to face his friend.  Stiles watches him rub his chin where the beginnings of a beard are starting to show.  Weird.  Scott with a beard.  It's so strange seeing the crooked jaw he grew up beside wearing something so adult, so different.

"Everyday, dude."  Scott says finally, meeting Stiles' gaze, before looking away into the horizon.  "I know we've never discussed this before,"  Scott starts, delicately.  "Allison and Derek, I mean.  But I know everyone's been talking to you about how he's unlikely to ever come back."  Scott's hands twitch as he seems to search for the right words. 

"Nobody mentions Allison."  Scott's voice breaks on her name.  "They think I can't handle it or something."  Stiles watches the beginning of tears form in Scott's eyes, he reaches his arm out, wrapping it around Scott's shoulder, pulling him closer.

"Because they know you won't listen.  No matter what anyone says, you know, you believe with your whole heart, Allison's coming home."

Scott gazes at him with tear filled eyes.  "But you believe that too, right?"

Stiles looks away.  He knows how this world works, it's fucking cruel and capricious and he can want, want, want so much for Derek to be okay, but he knows what he wants will never have any effect on what actually happens.

Scott hopes and dreams Allison will come back.  Stiles' hope slowly trickles away each day he comes up here and doesn't see Derek's car on the long road.

***

"You missed dinner."  His dad surprises him when Stiles opens the door to the library.  He's standing in his full Sheriff regalia, flipping through one of the books from the shelves.

 

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/122270748442/art-for-final-chapter-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

Stiles scratches his head, sheepish.  "Sorry."

"Never mind."  His dad sighs, closing the book with a snap, placing it back on the shelf.  "You and Scott didn't come home last night."

"We went up to the battlements."  Stiles explains.  "Stayed the night."

"I remember when the three of you were little and would sneak up there."  His dad's mouth twitches, a small grin forming.  "In the middle of the night, out of nowhere, Claudia got up to check on you and found you missing from bed.  When she went to see if you were at Heather's, she was missing too.  Heather's dad was just about ready to wake the whole town to search for her.  But Claudia just knew.  She knew where you were like a second sense.  And we found you, Scott, and Heather up in the battlements.  Sleeping peacefully in a big puppy pile, not a care in the world.  You were probably too young to remember..."

"I remember."  Stiles nods, his voice choked up, "Scott was sad because of his asshole father, we were just trying to cheer him up.  Heather wanted to bring him there because we can always see the milky way so clearly from the battlements.  She loved the stars so much."  And so does Derek, he can't help but draw parallels between them.  He swallows heavily, "But this time Scott was comforting me."

His dad's eyes soften.  "I know.  But Stiles, I need to know where you are, for my peace of mind at least.  Please, son, you know why."

"I'm sorry."  Stiles says, tears finally breaking free, running down his cheeks.

"There's nothing you need to apologize for."  He says, pulling Stiles into a warm hug.  "I understand what you're going though.  And he really does because of Stiles' mom.

He pulls away from Stiles, holding up his left hand.  "You know I still wear Claudia's ring, even though I married Melissa."  Stiles nods, he always wondered why Melissa was okay with that, he figures it's because Melissa and his mom were best friends growing up.  She loved his mom differently that his dad, but with the same calibre.  The ring is how they remember the woman they both grew up with, both loved.  One as a sister, the other as a wife.  "I won't ever stop loving your mom, and Melissa understands because the same is true for her."

His dad looks into his eyes, holding his shoulders, making sure he understands his next words.  "No one is telling you to stop loving Derek."

And that's when the tears break free.  Stiles' shoulder shake with the power of his sobs as his dad pulls him closer, wrapping his arms right around him, cradling him to his chest like when he was just a little kid.  "I miss him, dad.  I miss him so fucking much."  He sobs, tears staining his dad's shirt.

"I know, Stiles.  I know.  And you're allowed to never stop missing him.  But holding hope is a double edged sword.  It is possible to let him go and still love him, and you need to try."

"I just want it to stop hurting."  Stiles pulls away, wiping tears and snot from his face.  "I wish I never felt like this.  It makes no sense, you knew mom for most of your life.  Of course you still love her.  I was only with Derek a few weeks, that's nothing compared to what you and mom had."

His dad shakes his head.  "Stiles, love isn't dependant on how long you've know someone, it just is, you love Derek and that is real and true and you shouldn't try and convince yourself what you feel for him is less than it is.  You love him, Stiles.  Don't ever cheapen the bond you two shared."

"Even if it hurts?"

"Even if it hurts."

***

The next time Erica goes with him on a raid, they're able to bring the Jeep right up to the front door of the crumbling library.  And so, Stiles finds that in one day his library swells by at a few hundred books.

Now, all his time is spent organizing and cataloguing the collection.  Erica and Boyd drop by sometimes, reading on the comfortable wicker furniture he ordered from the craftsman.  Scott likes to go over the new animal encyclopaedias, staring in wonder at pictures of extinct creatures full of colours and flamboyance, useless on the practical wasteland, but so beautiful nonetheless.

Stiles' work brings him such joy as every single day, more and more people stick their heads through the open door, discovering a lost world within the pages of a book.  Learning, enjoying what they find

Stiles is busy stitching new covers on some of the more worn books, making sure they are as sturdy as possible.  Isaac gave him yards of colourful hemp last time he dropped by, and Stiles figured the books needed new clothing more than he did.  He's humming along to the hand powered radio, sluggishly playing music as the charge slowly runs out.  He's just about to put down the needle and pick up the radio to crank the handle again when he hears a voice coming from behind clear his throat.    

"Dude, just come on in, grab a book, take a seat.  I know I can be annoying, but I hear from good authority, if you ignore me I shut right up.  Eventually."  Stiles grins, cranking the radio.

"Stiles."  The voice says simply, and Stiles drops the radio with a thud.

He would recognize that voice anywhere.

"Derek."  His voice breaks on the last syllable.

"Yeah." 

And Stiles whips around.

Derek's standing by the door, duffle bag slung on his shoulder, beard so full, thick and soft, Stiles thinks he's seeing a ghost.

"Are you real?"  He questions, sceptical.  "Or is the filtration system introducing hallucinogens into the water?"

Derek grins, bright like the sun.  "Why don't you come closer and find out?"  He drops the duffle with a thud, spreading his arms wide as he steps forward into the sunny room.

And Stiles pushes up from his seat, chair toppling in his enthusiasm, as he runs forward towards Derek.  Throwing his arms around the other man, he lets Derek stabilize him with hands under his butt, as his wraps legs around Derek's waist.  "You're real."  Stiles says, voice full of wonder, staring down into Derek's eyes.

"I'm home."  Derek says simply, smile still brilliant.

"You're late you fucker."  Stiles slaps his muscled back.  "What took you so long?"

Derek rolls his eyes.  "The northern folk love to haggle for deals.  If it wasn't for Allison's diplomacy we would've been up there forever." 

Stiles snorts, before he stares down, studying the tanned face of the man he loves, a face he was almost prepared to never see again.  Pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Derek's mouth, he whispers, speaking so their lips brush, "I've wanted to do that for more than a year." 

 

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/122270817447/art-for-final-chapter-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

"Hmm."  Derek hums, capturing Stiles' mouth into a full, biting kiss.  Sucking Stiles' bottom lip, he gropes his ass until Stiles squeaks in indignation.  Chuckling, Derek murmurs, "I've wanted to do that for so long too."

Stiles jokingly pinches Derek's bicep, and the older man laughs, dropping him to his feet.  Derek grabs him by the back of his neck, pulling Stiles closer so their foreheads rest against each other.  "I love you."  He says, staring into Stiles' eyes, hazel warm and full.

"Me too."  Stiles whispers before running his fingers through Derek's beard, moving until they tangle in the soft black hair at Derek's nape, pulling him into a slow, thorough kiss.

Forever.

 

 

 

 

 

**Outtake:  Allison and Derek having a blast in the north.**

[Tumblr link to art](http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/122270889212/art-for-final-chapter-of-its-a-mad-mad-world)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to stick to writing 15k and under fics, long fics are a pain in my tuches.
> 
> I've got a looong to-write list, but I'm gonna finish With my toes on the edge, I just got distracted by like 20 other ideas....
> 
> So yeah, future stuff. Expect a kinda Macbeth Sterek thing that has shitall to do with the play but is instead inspired by the press release images of Marion Cotillard and Michael Fassbender, and is a glorified excuse to draw Derek in a kilt. Oh, and I got an idea for another a/b/o fic, it's a medieval AU and will have more traditional dynamics. After that, a lawyer and professional dominant fic. 
> 
> I think I'm going to finish writing each fic before I post, so you guys don't have to wait for chapters to come out. Subscribe if interested, and see ya'll soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd so mistakes are my own, but if you spot something catastrophic shoot me a message and I'll fix it, also if you think I should tag something.


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